


Misconceptions

by occasional_boy_reporter



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dark, Gore, M/M, Medical Procedures, Miscarriage, Other, Prostitution, Spark Sex, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasional_boy_reporter/pseuds/occasional_boy_reporter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of Cybertron's greatest war, Knock Out and Breakdown decide to abandon their respective factions and strike out together as neutrals. Unfortunately, a series of failed pregnancies and the resulting strain will warp the two mechs from bright-eyed deserters to twisted survivors.<br/>Dark and traumatic backstory presented in connected scenes that will take most perceptions of Breakdown and Knock Out and drag them through a pit of angst until you go "Oh, yeah. I could see that happening to them. Poor things!"<br/>*major warning for sparkling deaths, some graphically detailed AND lots of prostitution of varying kinds*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're looking at Knock Out and Breakdown way back in life so when things are different than cannon depictions, assume I'm getting there. e.g. Knock Out has no medical knowledge at this point but it will come.  
> *operate under the belief that each side of the war uses optic color to identify themselves just like Autobot/Decepticon logos and that the operation to switch colors is...  
> 1\. difficult and could only be done on Cybertron, making mechs with red or blue being some of the oldest and most loyal to their respective causes  
> 2\. an operation that Decepticons would not force on their troops if time didn't allow for sufficient peer pressure *coughBULLYINGcoughTHREATENINGcough* and Autobots would not force it at all  
> Sooooo, the fact that Knock Out has pretty, dark blue-green optics is not an accident; It's part of the journey.

   “We’re carrying.”

   “We’re what?”

   “Well, _I’m_ carrying. You just provided some of the CNA, you big stud.”

   “…We’re…what?”

   Knock Out rolled his optics spectacularly and settled himself a little more fully in Breakdown’s lap. The pilot’s chair of their tiny spacecraft was perhaps not suited for such an important announcement but Breakdown had refused to leave the controls in this particular sector of space (too many reports of pirates wandering about) and Knock Out absolutely could not wait a click longer to share the news.

   “ _You_ , Breakdown,” Knock Out indicated the startled blue mech beneath him with a single shapely finger before wriggling his hips and pointing gleefully to himself, “interfaced _me_ , Knock Out. And now _I_ am sparked up.”

   Breakdown’s optics unfocussed as he muttered dazedly. “We’re…you’re…sparked…”

   “That’s good! Try to keep up, buddy.” Knock Out laughed and gently patted an open palm to Breakdown’s cheek like one might do to rouse a mech who’d had just a little too much high-grade energon.

   “But…but how?” Breakdown blurted with rising volume.

   Knock Out’s face scrunched in distaste. “Do I need to do the pointing thing again? Ok, watch this time. _You_ , Breakdown, **_interfaced_** -“

   “You told me you had an inhibitor!” Breakdown grabbed Knock Out’s servos mid-gesture.

   Knock Out simply shrugged. “Inhibitors can fail, especially if they’re inserted into a mech who’s floating around in space without access to a medic for regular checkups.”

   “Slag!” Breakdown groaned and dragged large, blunt fingers down his face before slumping completely in his chair.

   “I must say,” Knock Out muttered as he sat perched on the slowly dying _thing_ that was formerly his partner in both crime and berth, “I thought you’d be taking this much better. I was under the impression that you love sparklings. I thought you’d want them.”

   “Not here! Not in the middle of some Primusforsaken stretch of space!”

   Knock Out’s blue-green optics closed in the painful silence that followed. It was perfectly true. This was a Primusforsaken stretch of space. But here, Breakdown and Knock Out had found they were beyond the reach of Cybertron’s war. In this sector, no being knew nor cared that Breakdown was a deserter of the Autobot army. And in this sector, no being knew nor cared that Knock Out had defected from the Decepticons on the wake of his very first mission…the disastrously fantastic mission where he’d met Breakdown and the two had mutualy decided they’d had enough of the war and might like to have more of each other instead.

   Here it was safe. Boring as all frag in Knock Out’s opinion but safe. Safe enough for a former Decepticon and a former Autobot to try for something more than a passing acquaintance or energon-soaked farewell.

   Knock Out had been alternately amazed and ecstatic when he realized the strange thrumming in his spark chamber was not some mystery virus acquired in their vast wanderings but actually the start of a new life, the first signs of a sparkling that could be picked up without medical scans. It was the red mech’s very first time as a carrier. Otherwise, he might have recognized his decreased fuel efficiency as a typical side-effect of carrying a sparkling when no other injuries existed. It certainly hadn’t been intentional but with the way Knock Out and Breakdown interfaced, the frequency and the zeal, it was no wonder one of them wound up sparked!

   Knock Out had imagined Breakdown’s response, the way his warm optics would gleam the moment he was told. That ridiculous Autobot-esque optimism had wormed its way into Knock Out’s core, the side-effect of being trapped in a ship for extended periods of time with a soft-sparked lug. But Knock Out had somehow miscalculated something, misunderstood entirely perhaps. If Breakdown did not want the sparkling, then there was nothing else to do. Even if it pained Knock Out’s spark just to consider it…

   “Fine then," Knock Out slipped from Breakdown’s lap with wounded grace, “I suppose I’ll find a way to be rid of it.”

   “No!” Breakdown snagged Knock Out’s waist in both hands before he could slink away. Fear colored Breakdown’s EM field a horrible yellow tinted with the rust-red of trepidation. “I didn’t mean anything like that! We just never talked about this. Do you even _want_ sparklings?”

   The sleek, red model smiled almost demurely and nuzzled into the large hand that rose to brush his face. It was the softest expression Breakdown had ever seen the former 'Con make outside the hazy space of recharge or lazy post-frag scenario. Knock Out vented an airy thing that was half shudder and half laugh. “They are rather charming little creatures when they’re not squaling. And I know you want them so badly. I’d like to give that to you.”

   Breakdown cupped Knock Out’s neck and he thumbed the smaller mech’s cheek affectionately. When he finally spoke, it was an entirely unhelpful, soft rumble. “I don’t know what to say, Knock Out.”

   “Say that we’ll keep it.” Knock Out stared hard into golden optics remembering when they had been Autobot blue and hoped that this sparkling, _their_ sparkling, would carry the same sun-like eyes of its softer creator.

   Finally, yellow optics flared in elation, sparkled with hope and all things fuzzy and warm and very much provided the perfect comfort. The former Wrecker's grin split his face almost to its limits. “Primus! Of course we’re keeping it!”

   Knock Out had barely felt his spark ease before Breakdown shot to his feet, scooped Knock Out into his long arms as he rose, and hoisted the smaller frame into the air. Knock Out squeaked and squirmed as the blue mech spun them in a joyful semicircle. “Breakdown, have a little dignity!”

   Breakdown simply lowered Knock Out within range and silenced all silly protests with a hungry kiss.

 

 

 

**AN: The title is a play on the fact that there will be a lot of failed pregnancies (lots!) but also a warning that I am going to do terrible things to Knock Out and Breakdown that shake up some of the reasoning behind their bigger character traits. For example-Knock Out's obsession with looking good will not be just fun, cutesy bouts of vanity. Chapter One is the sweetness! Shit gets REAL DARK and fast hereafter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vorn=about 83 years  
> not a long time when you're at war for millions of years

   “What should we name it? Knock Down? Breakout?”

   Knock Out groaned from his place on the berth. “Unmaker take me if this thing is born with your horrid sense of humor.”

   “What?” Breakdown’s mock offense was blown wide open by his laugh, “I’m being serious. This thing’s going to need a name soon. We can’t keep calling it…well…‘it.”

   “I’d venture it’s a little too soon to be calling _it_ anything. I’m not sure _that_ resembles a sparkling at all.” Knock Out gestured to the small, dark spot on a nearby screen.

   Supposedly the mess of active gears and pistons displayed were Knock Out’s internal systems and that gaping space between moving parts was his gestational chamber. So, theoretically, that darker mass within his reproduction tank was a developing protoform. Theoretically. Knock Out was hardly anything close to a medic and Breakdown made a rather funny nurse. They’d struggled just to _activate_ the medical grade scanner tucked into the corner of their stolen Autobot ship. Deciphering the images was not any easier.

   Breakdown sat hunched over as he moved the handheld scanner one way and then the next over Knock Out’s thoracic plating as if he could get a better view of the developing sparkling. “Be nice, Knock Out! What if the little guy can hear you?”

   Knock Out rolled his optics. Breakdown could be so defensive of the little thing. And, though Knock Out would never admit it, sometimes he took a shot at the developing sparkling’s expense just to watch Breakdown’s face contort in that ferociously protective way of his. Still, scanning Knock Out’s chamber every time they woke from recharge was ridiculously excessive. Knock Out appreciated the blue mech’s enthusiasm but barely any time had passed since Knock Out made his official announcement.

   Knock Out sighed and consciously softened his tone for his partner’s benefit. “Breakdown, would you stop scanning me already? You’re not going to see anything exciting for quite some time. Sparklings take a long time to develop.”

   “Less than a vorn is a short time,” Breakdown argued.

   “Oh, it will feel short when my plating starts to bulge and we’re only halfway across this quadrant,” Knock Out muttered hotly. He took to silently tapping his fingers just above his pelvic plate.

   A verbal 180 like that deserved a follow up comment but none came. Breakdown recognized the subsequent beat of silence as one of Knock Out’s emotional tells. The former ‘Con sucked at the whole telling your feelings thing. Not that the former Wrecker was known for his touchy-feeliness either.  Luckily, Breakdown had plenty of time to watch and learn in their isolation and knew how to pick up on the heavy stuff, the sad or frightened bits Knock Out would never bother telling to Breakdown outright.

   “Hey,” Breakdown murmured and placed one large servo over Knock Out’s, “don’t worry. We’ll find a real medic way before this sparkling’s due.”

   Knock Out gave a start, blue eyes wide at being caught in a moment more vulnerable than he ever would have let on. Breakdown mused that Knock Out would have been a horrible Decepticon. Case in point; the guy went on one mission before deciding he’d had enough abuse and defected into the arms of an Autobot! No sooner had Breakdown thought that then Knock Out shook the blue mech’s hand off his own.

   “I’m not worried,” Knock Out all but barked. “Unless you really intend to name this sparkling ‘Breakout, _then_ I’m a little concerned. It's a sparkling, not an epidemic.”

   Breakdown raised an optic ridge at the lie, then at the attempted redirection. Orange faceplates quirked in a sloppy grin. “Knock Out?”

   “What?” the red mech snapped.

   “I love you.”

   Knock Out huffed and found anywhere to look that wasn’t at Breakdown. Nearly five vorns together floating on the outskirts of the war and that was as close as Knock Out could get to a confession of reciprocity. At least for now. Breakdown had a feeling he’d wear the small mech down before this sparkling business was all said and done.

 

**************

 

    Breakdown sighed. He hated to haggle with vendors. Mostly because he was slag at it. But he wasn't about to let Knock Out wander around on the surface of a planet that could be deemed even remotely dangerous so Breakdown found himself arguing with some green and pink alien barely taller than his own knee.

   This pathetic excuse for an outpost was the only safe stop to refuel for a good half-vorn worth of travel and, if Knock Out's calculations were correct, they had less than a quarter of a vorn to find a neutral Cybertronian with enough medical knowledge to help deliver their sparkling. Knock Out had long ago ceased to criticize Breakdown for the constant medical scans. The first time they'd noticed the gestational mass move, well, that was that! Even if it was just the protoform testing out its mobility sub-routines, both mechs had taken to watching the medical scan as if it were the height of entertainment. They commented on each minute shift of the sparkling and placed bets on exactly when the tiny newspark would detach from Knock Out's own and drift down to give life to the little frame.

   But only a few cycles ago they'd been forced to agree to check the scans less frequently because, quite frankly, they were driving themselves to distraction. Especially Breakdown. Knock Out had lamented that this would be an outrageously spoiled sparkling before it was even born. Breakdown had agreed in something akin to triumph. Then Knock Out had tried to deflect any rising 'fluffy' feelings by moaning that if his plating had to expand any further, he'd split at the seams. Breakdown had joked that he'd still find the red mech the most attractive bot he'd ever interfaced, which had only produced a snort and rolling of optics. It had been several orns since Breakdown last had the pleasure of watching the growing sparkling kick and squirm in Knock Out's gestational tank and vowed to beg for the privilege once he'd finished his business for the day.

  So while Knock Out remained aboard their docked ship and searched for any nearby Cybertronian spacecraft or outposts, Breakdown stood haggling for the fuel they would need to reach said Cybertronians. Unfortunately, this seedy, slimy merchant (literally, he was some kind of sentient, oozing, plant thing) wanted an outrageous amount of local credits to even consider the sale.

   "Now look here, bud!" Breakdown forgot his clever return argument entirely when he felt a ping from Knock Out. Urgent priority but no message within. Breakdown sent a questioning glyph in return. Knock Out did not respond immediately. Half a click passed, then another. Finally a single glyph arrived from Knock Out.

   **::return::**

Breakdown blinked at the plant merchant in front of him and waved for him to be silent. **::Knock Out, something wrong?::**

   The silence stretched onward and Breakdown felt the plating of his palms itch. Finally another urgently tagged message came through.

**::emergency. sparkling.::**

   The energon heated in his frame, warmed by the panic in his spark, and pounded in his struts. Was, was it time? It couldn't be. It couldn't... Breakdown shoved right past the merchant and sprinted for the ship, for Knock Out.

   Again and again Breakdown sent requests for open comms, launched round after round of querying messages but he was met with nothing. The silence was maddening! He transformed, tires squealed as he swerved through the crowded docks not caring about the ruckus he raised or the alien creatures that leapt out of his path.

   **::KNOCK OUT, PLEASE ANSWER!::**

   He skidded onto the ramp of their unassuming white ship and transformed back to root mode in a lurch that slammed him through the thin inner door and into their transport's open quarters.

   "Knock Out? What the pit-" Breakdown stopped, choked on his own intake.

   Knock Out swayed at the edge of their berth, medical scanner in a blue-stained servo. Energon was everywhere; the berth, the medical monitor, the floor. The mech himself was more blue than red. Knock Out bent in a violent cough and Breakdown watched in transfixed horror as fresh energon seeped from the plates of Knock Out's abdomen. Breakdown rushed to clamp a hand over the glowing plates as if he could somehow stem the flow. Knock Out didn't spare a glance for his partner, he just searched the monitor with wild optics as he shook helm to pede. Energon dripped from his chin to splash Breakdown's own shaking hands.

   Breakdown tried and failed to find his voice. In the end, Knock Out was the one to speak even though it was a twisted wisp of his usual tone. "Something's not right."

   Knock Out convulsed with a horrible gurgling in his intakes and the following explosive exvent sent another wave of glowing energon splashing against the medical monitor, obscuring the image of an unmoving lump in Knock Out's gestational chamber.

  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also orns=days  
> a really, really short time if you fight war for four million years OR a very long time if you're overly eager for something :)

   There wasn’t a medic with the faintest knowledge of Cybertronian biology on the entire Unicron-spawned outpost. In the end, Breakdown settled for an alien of unknown species but with claws strong enough to split metal and just enough intelligence and comprehension to cut where Breakdown gestured. As the alien’s scythe-like hands sliced uncertainly down Knock Out’s ventral plates, Breakdown prayed that Knock Out would remain in emergency shutdown. Just until they could figure out what nearly offlined the mech permanently and somehow fix it.

   Together, Breakdown and the impromptu surgeon pulled back enough silver plating to find Knock Out’s swollen gestational tank. The blue mech nodded and the alien cut through the second layer of metal.

   It was the sparkling. Breakdown knew with dread. As a former Wrecker, Breakdown didn't know a lot about fixing bots but he knew enough about busting them up. It couldn't have been some kind of accident, a fall or an impact of some sort. In order to cause that massive level of energon leaks, Knock Out would have to suffer severe external trauma and a blow like that would show on the red mech’s plating. Barring the energon stains, Knock Out's plating was untouched. The damage was internal. Something was wrong with their sparkling.

   When they cracked open Knock Out’s gestational chamber, the problem was obvious through the semi-clear tank fluids. The sparkling’s frame had fused to Knock Out’s chamber wall in a horrific twist of metal. Breakdown swallowed the half-processed energon that surged against the back of his intake.

  The organic creature recoiled with a shudder and covered two slits on its head that Breakdown could only assume were the center of its olfactory senses. Breakdown’s own processor was bombarded by suspicious readings. A closer look revealed faintly glowing black lines that crisscrossed and expanded from the point of fusion to cover the entire tank wall like a circuit board. The black oozed thickly from the sliced edges of Knock Out’s tank. Breakdown scraped some onto his finger and grimaced. The dark goo was energon.

   Energon was only black when it was bad, stagnant and toxic. That fuel should have travelled to the sparkling to support its growth but had instead been stuck somewhere between Knock Out and their unborn sparkling. Or maybe the sparkling had some malfunction in his recycling process and released it into Knock Out. Breakdown was not a medic. He never even claimed to be intelligent! He had no idea if it was a kinked line, an infection, or if fusing to the tank had caused it, or if the sparkling fused to the tank _because_ of the bad energon, or…or something else. Frag, he didn’t know!

   What he did know was that the still lump of nearly-matured protoform was killing Knock Out. Breakdown reached for one of Knock Out’s unresponsive servos and squeezed it tightly. This wasn’t a choice he wanted to make alone but Knock Out was out cold. Breakdown couldn't just stare and wait with his partner dripping energon all over their berth like some kind of ghastly recharge terror. There really wasn't much of a choice to make anyway.  Knock Out had purged blue energon aboard their ship which, as far as Breakdown could guess, meant toxins probably hadn’t taken over his systems quite yet but the sparkling was already obviously beyond repair. That did not make Breakdown’s spark ache any less. Breakdown brushed a single finger against a tiny, silver chest that was laced with black lines before he nodded to the queasy-looking organic next to him and gestured to the point of twisted fusion.

******************

   Knock Out stared at the etched sheet of metal hammered into the one space of unoccupied ground on the whole wretched outpost. It was just a chunk of scrap with the traditional glyphs for love and mourning and the current star date scratched into it with whatever sharp object Breakdown had scavenged from their ship. It wasn’t a proper marker by any means.

   Knock Out wanted to take the little frame with them, keep it until they could find someplace beautiful to inter the remains. But by the time Knock Out had been welded back together and come around, the frame of their unborn sparkling was a time bomb of toxic energon. Breakdown had refused to even let him hold it.

   This was the best they could do. The best they could offer their first sparkling was a hasty burial in the rusting frame of a pathetic dock several solar systems away from Cybertron.

 The ragged weld lines on his abdominal plating burned with pain. And his spark...Knock Out's spark was frozen in shock. The second spark in his chamber, the spark that belonged to the already buried frame, sputtered pathetically. With no frame to house it, the little life lingered in pain. Knock Out had no idea how long it might take but the spark would eventually snuff itself out. Knock Out would feel every last moment of their sparkling's true death. He pressed the heels of both servos into his optical sockets hard enough to cause himself a fresh, new pain. He did not care. He couldn’t look at that metal marker for another moment knowing that it stood for their child both dead and still dying.

   Breakdown’s fingers brushed softly along Knock Out’s helm. It might have been to comfort Knock Out or for Breakdown to comfort himself. Either way, it barely touched the surface of spark-deep loss.


	4. Chapter 4

   “Breakdown?”

   The mech stirred but couldn’t find the strength to open his optics. It had been a long few cycles. This sector of space had turned out to be just as dangerous as he’d anticipated between asteroids, magnetic storms, and lingering pirates. Compound that with the fact Knock Out and Breakdown were still learning to cope with their loss and that pretty much explained the prolonged lack of recharge and thus Breakdown’s reluctance to fully online.

   “Breakdown?”

   This time, Breakdown couldn’t ignore the thin waver of distress in Knock Out’s voice. The comforting response was automatic by this point. Breakdown gathered his smaller partner into his arms and dragged him closer, nuzzling his helm all the while. His voice box kicked on next with some effort. “D’ja have a bad replay?”

   Knock Out had the worst recharge terrors recently, horrible things that made the red mech bolt upright and ruined recharge for both mechs. Not that Breakdown blamed him. He’d onlined more than once himself to the image of Knock Out split open on this very berth. There were still faint, blue stains in the tightest corners.

   The smaller mech trembled and heaved a dry sob. Knock Out clung to Breakdown’s frame and whispered something over and over into the space of Breakdown’s collar. The former Wrecker had to fine tune his audials to pick it up.

   “I’m sorry.” Over and over in a broken loop. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

   “Come on, bud.” Breakdown half rocked and half shook the quivering mess of metal and spiking EM field in his arms.  How many times had they been over this? Breakdown kissed the head burrowed into his neck and sighed. “It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

   “No! I know. He’s-“ Knock Out choked on whatever he was trying to say. In lieu of words, Knock Out snatched Breakdown’s hand from the comforting place on his back, brought it to the red plating of his chest. He pressed it hard into the metal above his spark chamber.

   It took Breakdown’s processor a while to catch up. “You mean his spark? Slag. Just now?”

   The little thing had held on like a trooper but they both knew it was only a matter of time.

   Knock Out tried to hide a wretched sob behind clenched teeth but it escaped in a pitiful keening noise that tore through Breakdown’s spark.

   “It’s gone,” Knock Out gasped as if something was blocking his vents, something he couldn’t swallow down. “It hurts.”

   Breakdown wasn’t sure whether Knock Out meant the tiny spark’s extinction hurt Knock Out in some tactile way or if was just another metaphorical twist of a blade in the still gaping emotional wounds. He tried to ask, panic and concern finally jarring him the final stages out of recharge. But the moment Breakdown opened his mouth, Knock Out’s mouth was on him.

   Knock Out kissed Breakdown so hard that it hurt. Teeth broke the soft metal of Breakdown’s face and energon leaked from his lip but Knock Out just licked it up and caught the larger mech’s tongue in the same swipe. Knock Out’s fingers darted into the seams around Breakdown’s hips, dug deep and tugged at sensitive wires. Frag, it felt good in the worst way! Part of Breakdown, the part Knock Out would dismiss as the ‘Autobot part’, thought this was horribly wrong. Knock Out was hurt, _hurting_. The smaller mech's field was like oil, multi-colored with so many emotions that shifted and slid everywhere.

   Knock Out pulled at Breakdown’s hands and dragged them over his own body, across his burning chest, his retracting interface cover.

   Another part of Breakdown, maybe the same ‘Autobot part’ or maybe just the part that loved Knock Out, wanted to comfort the mech in whatever way he asked. Breakdown rolled to press the smaller mech’s frame into the berth bellow. He swallowed pleasured moans and broken sobs indiscriminately.

**************

   “Are you ok, Knock Out?”

   “Of course.” The red mech nodded and patted absently at the hand on his shoulder before fluttering around the room collecting various items.  “I keep telling you that I’m just fine.”

   Breakdown wasn’t at all surprised. It was a lie Knock Out had been telling since the moment he woke on that far-flung outpost.

   “Knock Out...” Breakdown’s voice angled toward a growl. The former ‘Con’s avoidance had to stop.

   “Really, I’m fine!” Knock Out’s laugh seemed brittle, his eyes were too wide, his gestures big and messy with overcompensating energy. He selected another item from an overhead storage space and added it to the growing pile of various oddities they would sell in the more exotic trade centers of this refugee planet. “What about that dormant Firebug we picked up on the other side of this system? Do you think that would go over well here or should we carry it all the way to Brobdingnag?”

   “You’re supposed to be taking it easy. That doctor said-“

   “Ha! What does that quack know? Sure, he did a smoother patch job than you,” Knock Out rapped a knuckle against his freshly repaired ventral plating, “but the mech was obviously more into body work than actual medicine. Can you believe what he said to me?”

   “Knock Out-“

   “’You’re a pit-spawned fool to be carrying sparklings!’” Knock Out carried on in a bitter parody of the old Cybertronian they’d found running a clinic on this planet. The red mech rolled his optics incredulously and his motions grew more heated until he was practically slamming items into the box on the counter. “’You’re too young. Do you _want_ to join the Well of All Sparks? Your frame type probably can’t even carry to term, heavily modified frames hardly ever do. You’ll tear yourself apart!’ Blah, blah, blah! Just a bunch of static noise about how I’m going to offline myself.”

   “Would you stop repeating those things?” Breakdown snapped and grabbed for Knock Out’s franticly rummaging servos. Knock Out let himself be spun in the larger mech’s grip and settled his engine in an obvious purr the moment he stopped chest to chest with Breakdown.

   “You wanna help prove that old codger wrong?” Knock Out’s fingers brushed directly over Breakdown’s interface cover and the larger mech flinched in surprise. “That box of junk can wait. Are you going to frag me or not?”

   “No, I’m not,” Breakdown growled.

   Something dark flickered across Knock Out’s field and face before he reigned it in and smiled crookedly. “Oh, please. You can’t believe that rusted cog’s drivel!”

   “I can!” Breakdown crowded Knock Out backward until he was caught between blue plating and a hard countertop. “I was there when the first sparkling…when…I was the one to…”

   Breakdown’s EM field crashed over Knock Out in a mess of blue-black despair. Knock Out’s faceplates screwed up against that exhausting wave of emotion. Carefully, Knock Out pried the former Wrecker’s fingers from his upper arm and ignored the small dents they’d made.

   “That was a fluke; a one-time, freak accident. The doctor said it himself. He’s only seen that kind of thing twice and he’s older than Primus!” Knock Out chuffed softly at the blue mech that towered over him and yet still seemed so small with his clenched optics and full body shudder. That was an Autobot for you, always mourning the past. Decepticons forged ahead. “Breakdown, I’m fine.”

   When Knock Out spoke like that, so cool and collected, Breakdown almost believed him. Almost. “I can’t take the chance, Knock Out. What if our luck runs out the next time? _Please_. Please, let him install a new inhibitor.”

   “...What about sparklings?” The red mech asked Breakdown's chest.

   “We don’t have to have them.”

   “We _won’t_ if I let him put that thing in me.”

   “Knock Out, I'm more worried about you.”

   The red mech sealed his mouth in a tight line and glared straight ahead.

   “Knock Out!” He could not really be considering…

   “Fine!” Knock Out spat and jerked a thumb toward the box on the counter, “You sell that junk while I go see the glitch with the inhibitor.”

   Breakdown vented in relief and the action seemed to uncoil Knock Out’s wound nerves a little as well.

   "Thank you." The blue mech took the opportunity to run a comforting hand along Knock Out's helm, even though the smaller mech still refused to meet his gaze. "I love you, Knock Out."

   Knock Out patted the big, blue warrior's chest almost absently. "I know you do, Breakdown."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

*warnings for some slight domestic discontent/violence* 

 

  “You’re home late,” Breakdown called out when he heard the front door creak open. “How was the clinic?”

   “Ugh! Exhausting!” Knock Out’s whine had Breakdown smiling fondly even before he’d rounded the corner and found Knock Out unceremoniously dumping an armful of datapads onto the nearest surface.

   “What’s all that?”

   “Study material,” Knock Out groaned and picked a pad from the top.

   “Whoah! All this is-”

  “ _How to Read Medical Scans_ , ‘The Cybonic Plague and You’, ‘Rust in Your Undercarriage’,”  Knock Out shuffled through the pile rattling off various titles. “ _The Proper Maintenance of Various Diodes_ , _Ratchet’s Comprehensive Guide to Limb Rehabilitation_ …”

   “The old Doc sure is giving you a lot of work lately.”

   Knock Out shrugged. “It’s fascinating. Not all of it’s pretty but…You should study with me. It wouldn’t hurt for the both of us to have some medical knowledge.”

   “No way,” Breakdown balked at just the sight of so many glyphs. It’s not that he was stupid. He just much rather preferred more physical pursuits, that’s what his frame was suited for. “I think I’ll leave this to you.”

   “Aw, come on,” Knock Out wheedled as he waved a copy of ‘A Spacebridge’s Theoretical Effects on the Gyroscopes of Mechs and Femmes’ in Breakdown’s face. “You could be my assistant.”

   Breakdown vented a horribly disbelieving thing and took the data pad so he could have an unobscured view of the smaller mech’s face. “Are you planning on becoming a full-fledged medic?”

   Knock Out shrugged. He had certainly expressed a ready interest in everything the old Cybertronian had to teach him. Of course the red mech had been reluctant at first, still fuming over the old crone’s assessment of Knock Out’s carrying capabilities. But they’d been on this planet…what?...quarter vorn now? Maybe closer to a half vorn. And in all that time, Knock Out had spent every cycle split between Breakdown and the dilapidated, little clinic at the edge of the nearest city center. But Knock Out hadn’t mentioned anything like trying to make a career out of it.

   Breakdown had assumed it was a distraction much the same way Breakdown spent long days as something of a demolition expert for the constant construction that was always expanding towns on the refugee planet. It was just a way to forget.

   “I think it will be beneficial to know all the inner workings of our own species." Knock Out pressed on conversationally. "After all, we’re about to bring another one into existance.”

   Breakdown fumbled the datapad in his hand and it cracked against the floor.

   Knock Out frowned at the busted volume. “Well, that was entirely unnecessary.”

   As Knock Out bent to scoop up the pad Breakdown grabbed an outstretched hand and yanked the red mech upright.

   “Ow!”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I mean that hurts!” Knock Out growled.

   “Pit! You know what I’m talking about. Are you carrying again?” Breakdown’s face couldn’t quite decide whether to settle in a look of shock or fury.

   Knock Out shrugged. It was such a dismissive gesture, Breakdown wanted to shake that sly smile right off Knock Out’s face. “Just found out at the clinic. That’s why I was late. We did a scan just to make sure.”

   “What happened to your inhibitor?”

   Knock Out took a little longer to respond. Even when he did, he stared at Breakdown’s chest and not his face. “I never had a new one installed,” he finally admitted.

   The red mech might as well have slapped Breakdown across his slack face. “On purpose? You lied to me? You lied to me about _this_? Why?”

   Knock Out gave a sighing laugh as if it was really just some minor detail and turned pleading blue optics upward. But blue eyes were not enough to smooth the twisted planes of Breakdown’s face, Knock Out was forced to give some explanation.

   “You want sparklings,” Knock Out pointed out as if it was the end all of the conversation.

   “We agreed not to!” Breakdown shook the arm in his grasp as if he could literally shake sense into the other mech.

   “I know but-“

   “We agreed!”

   "Breakdown-"

   "It’s dangerous!"

   “I want to do this,” Knock Out’s voice trembled.

   “You can’t!”

   This time Knock Out really did slap Breakdown right across his orange face. It didn’t carry much force, Knock Out was small and not exactly practiced in violence, but the sheer surprise was enough to turn Breakdown’s helm. Sharp red and murky browns, the anger and indignation of Knock Out’s EM field, lashed out like a living creature and wounded Breakdown far more than any blow to the face. Bitter greens worked their way into the field before the whole thing was overrun by the familiar ache of the blackest blues. It dredged long-suppressed pain to the surface of Breakdown’s EM field in sympathy. Dimmed golden optics refocused before they turned on Knock Out.

   The red mech was visibly shaking, furious but wounded to the core. His vents were harsh but his voice was almost nothing.  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

   Breakdown swallowed his first three sentence choices because nothing seemed right and all he could see was the image of Knock Out torn open and leaking black energon.

   In the end, Breakdown didn’t know what to say.

   So he just left.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few minor warnings for this chapter but they're kind of spoilers. So if you think you're sensitive (and I doubt you are if you've come this far) you can jump to the end, check the warnings, and then decide what to do.

   Breakdown had sired sparklings before. He couldn’t be sure how many. Most were taken this way or that after birth and Breakdown was never really in much position to argue or even to follow. Some he hadn’t learned of till vorns after the fact. Even then the knowledge tended to come about by accident, a slip of the tongue or a particularly defensive glare if he looked too long at a sparkling who “just happened” to have eerily familiar gold optics or a broad build. His partners had never quite approved of the Wrecker’s lifestyle and the other Wreckers had never quite approved of his partners. It was no wonder he couldn’t keep either in the end.

   Everything  was different with Knock Out. Certainly, the mech was high maintenance like all the previous partners. He was the kind of mech who craved the constant attention and care of some other bot, even if Knock Out shied away from that exact explanation. That had always been Breakdown’s type- anyone who acted as if they needed him.

  But Breakdown had seen something different on the battlefield of Cybertron. The way Knock Out quaked on the cracked stairs of a blown out tower as he stared down nearly half a Wrecker unit, proud enough to stand with head high but not so foolish to deny he was at their mercy, had struck Breakdown as a thing of beauty. Wheeljack had been more interested in the Decepticon’s sleek frame. He was particularly appreciative of Knock Out’s wings, evidence of some kind of jet alt-mode that wasn’t going anywhere based on the mech’s broken, smoldering state. Knock Out himself had been the one to expertly pick up and then shut down Wheeljack’s less than honorable line of thought. The Decepticon’s snark had nearly cost him his head before Bulkhead and Breakdown intervened.

   It was agreed the red jet wasn’t going anywhere and the three Autobot’s had all held very different ideas of what should be done with the ‘Con. So after a heated debate and cold standoff, the Wreckers had simply left Knock Out behind.

   Of course, Breakdown returned. It was not the first orn or the second. Those were spent in a silent war with himself. On the third orn Breakdown returned to the battlefield with one goal. He found Knock Out on the same ruined stairs. The downed jet hadn’t moved from the spot. But instead of standing proudly and staring down three Wreckers, Knock Out sat with his arms curled over his knees and watched the one Autobot’s approach without concern. Bubbled red paint made it clear that Knock Out had not moved even during the previous day’s light acid rain. This was a mech who’d all but given up on functioning.

   “You’re not the one I was expecting.” Knock Out’s vocalizer had been weak but somehow amused.

   Later the thought would horrify Breakdown that Knock Out had been so uncaring that he waited for Bulkhead to come back and offline him as the Wrecker had suggested three orn prior. Or maybe Knock Out had waited for Wheeljack to return and do worse than that.

   “Come with me,” Breakdown had blurted in a desperate rush. When Knock Out raised a single optic ridge in exhausted disbelief, Breakdown’s spark had fluttered something horrible. The Wrecker shook his head and tried again. “Will you come with me? Please?”

   “Where to, Wrecker?” It was idle curiosity at best.

   “I’m taking you to get repaired. Then we’re leaving.”

   “The city?”

   “Cybertron, the solar system, this sector if we have to.”

   Breakdown had gone back for Knock Out because he was brave and beautiful and hurt. And the moment Knock Out took his hand, Breakdown knew he would always return for this mech.

*******************

   “Do you feel like you owe me?” Breakdown whispered into the worn wheels in front of him.

   There was no immediate answer and Breakdown wondered if Knock Out was still in recharge. Finally, Knock Out sighed into the darkness surrounding the two mechs on their berth. “I want to do this. For you and for me.”

   Knock Out felt Breakdown frown. It wasn’t the former Wrecker’s EM field or even a shift in proximity. Knock Out just new the blue bot. It took no small amount of grace for a fully grown Cybertronian to roll over in a shared berth but Knock Out had it down to a science. The red mech settled once again into Breakdown’s arms but this time chest to chest. “Do you know what I was before I met you?”

   “A ‘Con?” Breakdown rumbled uncertainly.

   Knock Out shook his helm in negative. “Before that.”

   “…Knock Out, you don’t have to…” Some of it Breakdown had already been told, some of it he had guessed, none of it was pleasant. Knock Out shook his head stubbornly.

   “I was a mech for hire. Pleasurebot, shareware, whatever you want to call it. Anything a client needed or wanted was my job.” Knock Out’s fingers stroked down Breakdown’s chest. The touch was not meant to excite but to soothe the larger mech’s spiking EM field. Vorns after the fact and Knock Out’s previous means of self-support still raised Breakdown’s protective nature. Knock Out tensed a little himself, this was the hard part. This was the touchy feely Autobot-esque junk but it was for Breakdown. “I was propositioned to bear sparklings on a few different occasions. I never accepted those jobs. Do you know why?”

   Breakdown’s frown grew even as Knock Out snuggled in the more forgiving space between his chest and upper arm.

   “I never accepted because I wanted to keep something for me. I had to have something that was off limits, something to prove I was more than just a piece of property or some tower amenity. Then you… happened. Now I don’t need proof and you…I want to give this to you.”

   A large hand ran over each protruding bit on Knock Out’s back.  “Knock Out, your systems...your frame…”

   Knock Out smiled bitterly at that. It had seemed like such a good idea all those ages ago to discard his busted seeker frame and acquire wheels that would not only help disguise him from his former faction but also let him stick close to Breakdown. Knock Out ran his hands in soothing motions over Breakdown’s ventral armor.  “I know. But I can do it. I’ll be careful. We’ll check on it every orn and we have access to an actual medic this time. Everything will be just fine.”

***************

   Caution.

   The old medic said it at least twice a visit. Breakdown and Knock Out certainly took it seriously. Breakdown fussed and fretted over Knock Out until his obsessive care almost drove the former ‘Con insane. There were ore supplements and scans and so much caution.

   The extra spark pulsed brightly in Knock Out’s chest. It left him feeling warm and satisfied even as he continued to pour through medical datapads-the _only_ thing he was allowed to do at this late stage of carrying. And every orn was the same.

   Caution.

****************

   In the end, it didn’t matter. The frame was sturdy, the spark was vibrant. But in the last quarter vorn, the readings were ominous. The sparkling’s protoform grew unexpectedly in mass. It distributed along the back of the protoform, along the energon lines between carrier and sparkling, and grew until it hit the wall of Knock Out’s gestational tank.

   The old, Cybertronian medic suggested they terminate at that stage.

   Knock Out refused with the hope that the dark mass was the end of the growth.

   An orn later, the extra protomass strangled the energon lines.

   By the next orn, the sparkling’s frame was nestled in a metal case and buried behind the shabby, little clinic. It simply hadn't survived the stress of emergency delivery and the process of filtering the tainted energon. Now the little frame rested beneath a marker much grander than the first and the little spark lingered in Knock Out’s chest next to the dark spot that had been their first child.

   "The same problem twice..." Knock Out let the thought hang before he shook his head. "It must be a bad line of code in my kindling protocol." 

   Breakdown turned startled optics on his partner.

   "He's says it's beyond his skill." Knock Out indicated the clinic where the doctor was probably still wringing his servos together and muttering condolences. "We'll have to try somewhere else. We'll find a mech with coding experience."

   Breakdown swallowed and pulled his field tight before his horror could brush over Knock Out. The red mech was just barely patched up and only stood by supporting himself on Breakdown's arm, yet Knock Out's processor had already turned from his own physical state to the idea of new sparklings.

   "I'm not giving up," Knock Out promised in a firm whisper.

   Breakdown didn't know what to say but this time he stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings- I consider them all minor but here they be  
> giving up on life (don't really wanna call it suicide but more of a just no-longer-caring deal)  
> Wreckers come off as a-holes, sorry Bulk and 'Jack  
> non graphic past prostitution
> 
>  
> 
> Also, this recollection of how Breakdown and Knock Out met is extremely clipped here but I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be typing and uploading the whole thing as a supplemental chapter at some point.


	7. Chapter 7

   Among all the neutral Cybertronians they encountered, less than one percent were medically inclined. Still less were knowledgeable regarding sparklings.  None had the knowledge to rewrite code on the biomechanical level that Knock Out’s systems required. This time Breakdown held a thin, silver hand as Knock Out received a new gestational inhibitor. Until they found the right mech with the right skills, they would not risk anymore sparklings.

****************

   That’s when the racing started.

   At first, it was to blow off excess charge and to pick up a few credits that would ease the long trek across the stars. Breakdown was built for breaking things not speed. So unless it was some kind of off-road endurance deal, Breakdown left the racing to his infinitely more nimble partner. To Knock Out, racing was the closest thing to the thrill of flying again. He did it often and he did it well. Every hunk of rock or metal big enough to hold Cybertronian refugees had a race center and usually a place for pit fights as well. Apparently, those displaced by the war felt the need to either keep running or take out their aggression on their fellow survivors.

   On bad vorns, the ‘racing’ was as violent and dangerous as any pit fight. Dirty tactics were raised to the level of art in these refugee-run events. Knock Out’s paint had chipped in some places from simple lack of care but more prevalent were the streaks of foreign colors from mid-race collisions, the deep scratches caused by secret weapons deployed from side panels, the dents caused by being crowded off the track into alien structures or landscapes.

   Breakdown was horrified and reluctant to let his partner put himself in such danger after having already left the pain of war and discovering more personal loss. But vorns of Knock Out’s bitter disappointment and hot anger only came out on whatever twisted back road or deserted, open strip had been claimed a racetrack by displaced Cybertronians. It was the only way Knock Out could vent. Only after a race did the crushing weight lift from Knock Out’s optics and EM field. Breakdown had no choice but to allow the racing, even encouraged it with his presence at every event. And if Knock Out’s paint job looked a little ragged, Breakdown at least had the satisfaction that any assaulting racers looked worse by the time the former Decepticon was finished with them. A slow race saw at least one racer in a ditch after he'd come too close to the red model.

   Sometimes, Knock Out was too good at the racing thing and other mechs couldn’t just let results go uncontested. One dark cycle on Piros 5, three other racers decided Knock Out would be much less of a challenger without a fourth wheel and sought to remedy the situation as Knock Out and Breakdown left the shell of an arena. He might have had a Wrecker’s spark but Knock Out did not seem to possess a fighter’s level of training and went down hard before Breakdown could intercept the first attack. Breakdown had thoroughly beaten the fight out of two attackers and the very spark out of the last. The twisted metal of Knock Out’s left pede and energon stained helm had given Breakdown a new taste of old fear. Knock Out’s combat training began in earnest after the next recharge.

***************

   They travelled that way for vorns. Racing and breaking helms felt good. Even the distant sense of doom was missing from interfacing. They were a solid team. Breakdown again saw the proud and visually stunning Decepticon that he’d struck out with. Knock Out accepted each small, considerate action and new confession of love with less and less resistance. The pain that had seemed so impossible was just a dull memory.

   For a while, sparklings were forgotton.

****************

   “What if I carry?”

   Knock Out’s optics flickered, the datapad’s glyphs snapping in and out of blackness.  He swallowed and half turned to acknowledge Breakdown who had been so quiet, mutely stripping the ragged paint of Knock Out’s back in preparation of a long overdue, fresh coat. Their optics met and Knock Out fought down a wave of nearly suffocating panic. “You don’t have to do that. I told you I'm not giving up.”

   Breakdown shrugged but it was all tight, tense.  “Maybe I should though. If we both want them and you're having trouble…”

   The larger blue mech let the thought trail off with another painful looking shrug. The finer gears in Knock Out’s face ground to a halt, his jaw hinges ached. His spark sputtered though he managed to keep his voice level. “Breakdown, that’s not the point.”

   “I know,” Breakdown rumbled. But he didn’t. Not Really. Knock Out had said he wanted to give Breakdown sparklings. Shouldn’t a switch in carriers be the smart, logical, _Knock Out_ kind of thing to do? Breakdown frowned. “I just thought…”

   Knock Out clenched his servos tight and tried not to pinpoint the two dark spots that marred his spark.

   “Naw, never mind.” Breakdown finally laughed in self deprecation and rubbed an apologetic line between Knock Out’s wheels, “Forget I said it. I’d probably be a horrible carrier anyway. Never cared much for doctor visits.”

   The former Autobot didn't utter another word before he returned to his task of lovingly scraping the ruined paint from Knock Out’s back. Each gentle movement, each idle caress was a piece of emotional shrapnel that tore little holes in Knock Out’s spark.

   While Knock Out suffered through Breakdown's careful painting, Knock Out vowed to double his efforts to find a mech with code skills.

****************

  They travelled two systems over on a tip that an old code writer had set up shop in a bustling center for Cybertronian refuges. When they arrived, the colony was a burned out shell. Plasma bolts and massive blades left holes in the landscape. A crude sign and an audial broadcast playing on loop made the situation clear. Autobot Wreckers had "decimated a den of Decepticon sympathizers.”  Knock Out pegged it as cruel irony on a cosmic scale and shook his helm in disbelief.

   Breakdown couldn’t decide what hurt more; the fact that Wreckers had ruined the best chance to fix Knock Out’s code or the way Knock Out doubled over in laughter in the midst of those ruins.


	8. Chapter 8

    Knock Out had never believed in love. He’d heard it professed, even aimed in his direction, but when a mech whispered their undying affections and then paid you on your way to the door… the term lost a certain charm and believability.

   Love was a delusion, an escape from the real issues that reminded you living was just a slow journey to inevitable offline. Love was a lie. Knock Out told that lie too in order to keep or gain more clients, to earn better pay. Knock Out was excellent at ‘loving.’ He carried on affairs vorns long with well-off mechs who cursed and panted their undying love in Knock Out’s company and probably did it again, with less fevered exventing, when they returned home to their bonded mates.

   Love was lies.

   Love was scrap.

   Now lust…that was something Knock Out knew well. He could read it on the faces and EM fields of other mechs and he knew how to exploit that hunger with just a flick of wings or a tilt of a hip.

   If any mech had ever bothered to ask, Knock Out would have said he didn’t even know what "real" love looked like. He’d never seen it in his clients nor in the passing acquaintances who served as friends; he’d certainly not witnessed love in the leaders of Cybertron who kept the already oppressed lower class well beneath the pedes of the privileged.

   Public officials never tipped well either.

   No, in Knock Out's experience, nothing was ever given. Everything was bartered for if you were clever and taken if you were not. That is why Knock Out had doggedly preserved one thing for himself. This was the last thing that had not been traded away for his survival. Pride was long gone. His frame was barely his own anymore. It certainly wasn’t hope that he held onto. He never had that to begin with. But the choice of whether or not to bear sparklings- that was his. Sparklings weren’t some silly, sacred thing he was saving for a bonded mate. They didn’t represent a bright future or anything like a world that was good and fair and full of love. To Knock Out, sparklings were not synonymous with hope as they were in so many of the lower class family units. To Knock Out, not having sparklings was simply an act of defiance in the face of a world that wanted to take everything.

   And now he couldn’t even have them if he wanted to.

   It may have never mattered if not for Breakdown. The Wrecker had returned to that battlefield with such a disgusting look of hope and a sparkfelt promise on his lips. He was everything Knock Out’s usual clients were not. Breakdown was honest and compassionate and had a strong sense of what was just. And he’d done nothing but show a love for Knock Out since that first meeting.

  It was not always a romantic love. Not at first anyway. First, it was really more of a brotherly emotion. It was a comradery between two members of the same race who were just so disenchanted with the whole idea of war. Those first vorns were spent getting to know each other, tiptoeing around the core perceptions and beliefs that had placed them in opposite factions to begin with, quietly assessing the decisions they’d made, figuring out how to make a new life in the vastness of space.

  There was a definite attraction though. Breakdown always watched Knock Out from the corner of his optics, even when there was no discernable need to do so. The side glance had eventually turned wistful with all the desire but none of the heat or force of lust that Knock Out was so accustomed to. After another half a vorn or so, Knock Out threw Breakdown a freebie. Not because he needed to but because he wanted to. And because it would have taken Breakdown forever to come out and ask.

   That first interface had been…pretty lousy. Breakdown was a nervous mess. He was all shaking servos and bashful optics. It was a total surprise from a mech who’d had as many previous partners as Breakdown claimed. Breakdown had sheepishly confessed to never being that nervous save twice- only during his very first time and then again with Knock Out. It somehow made the former Wrecker that much more endearing.

   Knock Out hadn’t meant for it to mean anything or for them to become… _anything_. But one orn Knock Out woke from recharge to find Breakdown still occupying the same berth and just... staring contentedly; that’s when Knock Out suddenly realized he now knew what actual love must look like. It was plastered all over Breakdown’s gentle face, in the bright optics that were always watching.

   Knowing and accepting were still two different things and Knock Out knew he would have to live with the realization for a long time before he could come to grips with the idea of being loved. Not just 'loved' but genuinely _loved_. Reciprocating…that would take longer. If he ever made it there at all. It was hard to return feelings that had seemed entirely nonexistent for so much of one's life.

   When he realized he was carrying that first sparkling, everything felt right. He was still nowhere near uttering gooey, sweet sentiments but Knock Out knew the sparkling was good. The last precious piece of Knock Out should be meant for Breakdown. He wanted to give that to the mech who loved and asked for nothing in return.

   He just couldn’t.

************

   Breakdown did not understand.

   “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Broad hands brought their helms together. “It’s just going to keep hurting.”

   Letting the universe win would hurt more.  

   “Breakdown, I have to keep trying. For as long as it takes. I _need_ to do this.”

************

   Vorns later, Knock Out began to tinker with his own code.  Sparklings later, they were still no closer to a surviving youngling.

   Breakdown stopped naming them. Knock Out stopped counting them.

   ***********

   "Please, Knock Out. This has to stop. I-" Breakdown adjusted his constricting intake and turned his head from the bundle in his servos. "I can't do this again."

   The red mech bobbed his head in a move that was part nod of compliance, part shake of refusal. "I know," Knock Out muttered thickly.

   "Let me do it," Breakdown pleaded with a tone steeped in panic.

   Knock Out opened his mouth to say something, to deny, deflect, or retort. Breakdown cut him off with a gentle grip on the back of his neck. The blue mech was taller, heavier. He could have pinned Knock Out down with physical strength but it wouldn't be nearly as affective as the simple stare of two gold optics murky with pain.

  "I know it's not the same if I carry. This whole thing means something to you, right? I don't understand what it proves or why you have to do this because you won't tell me. But you have to stop. _If_ we try again, it has to be me."

   Knock Out gritted his dental plates and the relays popped behind his optics as he forcibly killed the feed so as not to see the twisted protoform in Breakdown's servos.

   "I know," Knock Out choked around the words.

   Knowing and accepting were still two very different things.


	9. Chapter 9

   “Well,” Breakdown raised his arms in a half shrug before letting them flop back to his sides gracelessly, “My inhibitor’s on its way to some scrap heap by now so…uh…you know...I guess we’re good to go.”

   Knock Out did not miss the nervous way Breakdown scratched his own thigh. The decision to carry their sparkling was quite a sacrifice on the blue mech's part. Sure, he was giving his frame but he was also putting his trust in Knock Out, leaving the task of protecting them to the smaller, less battle-tested bot. The notion that he was trusted with two, potentially three, sparks left a strange weight in the pit of Knock Out’s energon tanks. “You know you don’t have to do this?”

   Breakdown shook his head emphatically. “I do. If this is what it takes to make you sto-”

   The former Wrecker ended short of the full phrase when he belatedly realized the way it would hit Knock Out. Still, it lingered unspoken between them until the implication expanded into an uncomfortable press of pained and troubled EM fields.

_If this is what it takes to make you stop trying. To stop hurting yourself. To stop hurting us._

   Breakdown struggled for the words to pop that bubble of dangerously building pressure, to right the dark flutter of Knock Out’s blue optics, to relax his own clenched jaw. Knock Out was still so tight lipped about why sparklings were so vitally important but the reason wasn't what mattered to Breakdown. What mattered was _Knock Out_. If Knock Out needed this, Breakdown could only comply. He tried again.

   “If this makes you feel... whatever it is you need to feel, then I’m happy to do it for you. It's not that I have to, I want to."  That had sounded pretty good. Good by his usual standards of smoothness anyway. The space between them grew silent enough that Breakdown's fingers twitched nervously. Breakdown laughed when something else occurred to him. "And the failsafe’s already kinda gone anyway so...we might as well, right?”

   Knock Out smiled at the little hitch in Breakdown’s voice. The big mech was scared. It was obvious in the way he tensed at Knock Out’s touch to his armor. But Breakdown had put on such a brave face, it would be insulting for Knock Out to second guess his partner again. He caressed the smooth, silver plating of Breakdown’s torso and imagined what it would feel like to see it bowed outward with the growing form of a new sparkling. A healthy sparkling. Their sparkling.

   Maybe it didn’t matter that Knock Out couldn’t carry for them. Maybe it didn’t matter that the last piece of Knock Out could not be given in the very literal sense he’d always pictured. This sparkling would be theirs, Breakdown and Knock Out’s. It would be part of them both. This sparkling could still grow to be whole and maybe even happy. The swell in Knock Out’s spark felt suspiciously like hope.

*************

   “Can I get up now?” Breakdown’s grin far outshone his slight exasperation.

   “Nope,” Knock Out practically sing-songed from his deliciously contented position, curled half against and half atop Breakdown, with his audial pressed tightly to silver plating, “I’m not done listening to him yet.”

   Breakdown’s chuckle rumbled down his frame. When the laughter faded, Knock Out could once again hear the far away _thunk_ of tiny limbs colliding with Breakdown’s gestational tank as the growing sparkling flexed. All those sentimental fools Knock Out had once sneered at were right. Sparklings were synonymous with hope.

   "So what do you think, Knock Out? Should we name this one Breakout or Knock Down?"

   "Oh, Primus!"

*************

   "Primus," Breakdown cursed in a startled exvant.

   “I don’t understand,” Knock Out whispered. He checked the monitor again. Then again.

   Breakdown squeezed Knock Out’s hand once before dragging it and the tightly gripped scanner away from silver plating. There was no need to keep scanning the dark formation. They knew what it looked like. They knew what it meant.

   “I don’t understa-” Knock Out’s voice cracked and fizzled into nothing. “I…don’t…I…”

   Large hands pulled at Knock Out’s shaking arm. Breakdown didn’t have the words to fix this. He supposed a smarter mech might have but Breakdown couldn’t even begin to make this right so he just kept his mouth shut. He shuffled Knock Out silently, brought him closer to offer the only comfort he could.

   Knock Out curled onto the berth in a quaking mess, half against and half atop Breakdown, and pressed his audial tightly against silver plating to listen for each of the last little _thunks_.

************

       The defect may have scarred Knock Out's gestational tank but it wreaked total havoc on Breakdown's systems and brought the blue bot closer to offline than any enemy encounter he'd had in the war. The growth twisted his gestational tank and ravaged the connected internals with speed and severity that would give both bots nightmares for decades to come. Breakdown pleaded that the damage was minimal. Really, he insisted, it only looked so bad because their emotions were still raw. He was tough, a former-Wrecker! Biomechanics could be replaced with donor parts. He would heal and come back swinging like always. They’d been so close, nearly to full maturity. He could try it again!

   By this point, Knock Out possessed too much medical knowledge to ignore the crippling damage to Breakdown’s tank and too little hope to entertain the lies that Breakdown could ever carry again.

  Breakdown wondered if his gestational tank wound up in the same scrap heap as his inhibitor.


	10. Chapter 10

   Knock Out smiled beautifully. He laughed charmingly. He spun colorful and exciting tales of both city life and their travels in space, embellishing here and adding things there entirely for the sake of presentation. Any dead space that might have existed in the conversation was expertly filled with Knock Out’s witty commentary and a generous amount of open flirtation. The six mechs who were crowded around the bar table ate it up.

   The whole thing made Breakdown sick. He took a large swig of his high grade so he could, mostly, miss the sight of a green hand tentatively stroking Knock Out’s shoulder. Breakdown had agreed to this idea, he had to keep reminding himself of that fact, but every time Knock Out laughed at a poorly remembered Cybertronian joke…

   …every time Knock Out smiled at one of the unnamed Cybertronians around the table…

   …every time Knock Out allowed one of the severely overcharged mechs at their table to touch him in what were increasingly less “innocent” or even “accidental” ways…it became harder and harder for Breakdown not to smash the head of every one of those metal vultures.

   Breakdown wondered if this was what Knock Out was like when he sold himself on Cybertron. So many smiles, so much laughter, and it was all fake. Breakdown knew what Knock Out was like when he was really happy. This was painful in comparison. Not that any of the other mechs knew the difference. Knock Out was too good for that. The sloppy petting and poorly concealed leers he inspired were proof enough he knew what he was doing. Breakdown drank again and frowned at a purple and yellow mech who told a joke so openly lewd that it might have made Wheeljack blush and sent Ultra Magnus directly to join the All Spark.

   A closed loop.

   That’s what Knock Out had called it when he pitched this crazy idea. Every one of their sparklings had been malformed. It did not matter which mech acted as the carrier since the defect presented in both Knock Out and Breakdown’s attempts. Knock Out had been haunted by the thought that he was defective in some way, that all these painful vorns had been entirely his fault. No amount of protests or reassurances on Breakdown’s part could sway the smaller mech. But Knock Out had added, seemingly reasonably, that the miscarriages could be a warning sign of a greater ailment; a bigger issue that might pose a deadly threat at some unknown point in the future. Breakdown tried not to dwell on it but it didn’t ring right the first time Knock Out said it and it didn’t sound any better now. It felt almost like it was meant to redirect Breakdown’s attention, to cover the fact that this might just be Knock Out refusing to give up the idea of sparklings despite the promises he made after Breakdown’s own horrifically failed carriage. It felt a lot like Knock Out just getting his way, continuing his stubborn fight.

   Breakdown tried to ignore the mech who poked teasingly at Knock Out's dorsal biolights.

   A closed loop.

   Breakdown and Knock Out, as they were currently, could not produce a living sparkling between them. That was more than obvious. But they could not be certain which of them actually carried the faulty bit of code or errant CNA.

  _“The only way to open a closed loop,”_ Knock Out had said, _“is to introduce another variable.”_

   Breakdown felt so stupid. If anything was defective, it was his own processor. Because this idea…to let Knock Out spark with some other mech…just so they would _know_ …it was just so stupid...and Breakdown had agreed to it! It was going to wind up breaking the former Wrecker.

   “My goodness, that’s one for the archives!” Knock Out chuckled at the conclusion of some mech’s story that Breakdown did not even pretend to hear. Suddenly Knock Out perked up and stood. “I see a positively unforgivable lack of high grade at this table. Why don’t I remedy that? ”

   The table cheered.

   Knock Out nodded to the nearest mech, the one with the most insistently wandering green hands. “Come with? I’ll need someone to help me carry the next round.”

   The mech stood with a grin that made energon surge through Breakdown’s system. Breakdown tried not to look but it was always somehow worse not knowing. So despite his wishes not to, Breakdown spied Knock Out from the corner of his optics. Knock Out was at the bar with Green Hands, flirting, leaning in to whisper something to the other mech with a hand on his chest for balance. A green hand trailed intentionally across Knock Out’s hip. Breakdown wanted to shoot to his feet and march up to the bar, to knock Green Hands to the filthy floor with one good punch, to shake Knock Out and tell him what a horrible idea this was.

   But Breakdown remained firmly in his seat. This was Knock Out’s plan. Breakdown followed his lead even if the plan felt like some pit-spawned nightmare. It was all very routine by now. Knock Out would bring back the next round, Breakdown would willingly chug his, then Knock Out would find a way to slip from the group with his chosen target in tow. Breakdown would wait just long enough to give his partner a head start. They had quickly learned Breakdown could not handle seeing Knock Out and his target outside the bar atmosphere. The former Wrecker was forbidden to follow after he’d changed his mind and ruined Knock Out’s attempts on two separate occasions. When he'd guessed Knock Out and his target had put sufficient distance behind them, Breakdown would return to their ship and the horrible waiting would begin.

 

***********

  At the end of every cycle, Knock Out returned from whatever frag to sleep in the same berth as Breakdown. At first, Breakdown had been grateful to have his partner back in his arms and safe from all the imaginary dangers Breakdown concocted during his forced waiting periods. Breakdown buffed the scratches and foreign paint from Knock Out’s frame to eliminate any reminders of what had happened. Knock Out accepted the gesture without fuss and even seemed relieved each time. But as the plan stretched on and the orns ticked by, Knock Out returned each night acting less and less like himself. He was rude, he was snappish. He acted as if he wanted nothing to do with Breakdown the moment the buffer finished its final swipe. He paced restlessly and muttered to himself and each time Breakdown asked, Knock Out was simply “fine.” Some nights Knock Out felt stiff and resistant in Breakdown's embrace and other nights Knock Out practically fused himself to Breakdown’s chassis when they settled for recharge. Breakdown couldn’t make heads or tails of his partner but, clearly, no amount of buffing could fix what this routine was doing to Knock Out.

***********

    When Knock Out finally sparked, Breakdown was at a loss. He was as relieved as Knock Out to stop the insane bar hookups but he had not given any thought to what would happen if this sparkling, a stranger’s sparkling, came to term. If it did, if it was born whole, that had to mean Breakdown was the one with the defect. If Breakdown was defective, would that let Knock Out finally have some peace or did it just mean Breakdown couldn’t give Knock Out what he needed?

***********

   The most conflicting vorn of Breakdown’s existence ended with yet another buried sparkling. The defect was with Knock Out. Breakdown was almost disgusted when he realized how relieved he felt.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

   Something was wrong with Knock Out but Breakdown couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Of course, Knock Out didn’t act like anything was wrong. Yeah, he was kinda quiet since they’d left the last refugee camp and he spent more time recharging than he did up and about but it seemed like pretty reasonable behavior considering everything that had happened to them. They hadn’t interfaced in what felt like forever and that might seem strange too but, truth be told, that was as much Breakdown’s choice as it was Knock Out’s. The red frame was still attractive. There was just something about Knock Out’s optics that unnerved Breakdown. They were still a beautiful blue but without radiance, without anything really; no pain, no anger, just empty.

*********

   Knock Out asked for space and that wasn’t unreasonable. Breakdown didn’t know where the red bot went when he set out on each new stop in their journey. That was a little bothersome, never knowing where his smaller partner wandered to or what he might be doing. Knock Out promised he was safe and that was all Breakdown could get out of him. Soon enough, Knock Out’s safety was no longer Breakdown’s only concern.

*********

   “What did you do while you were out?” Breakdown tried to ask the question as gently as possible. Even so, Knock Out’s optics dialed wide at the query. He was surprised, as if he didn’t expect Breakdown to ask at all or as if he just hoped Breakdown wouldn't ask. The red mech took long enough to respond that Breakdown would have been suspicious of his answer…if he weren’t already suspicious.

   “I went sightseeing,” Knock Out finally mumbled at the datapad in his hands.

   That was not what Knock Out had done and Breakdown knew it.  Medical centers and the seediest corners of the local marketplaces; these were the places Knock Out visited alone. Stealth was not Breakdown’s forte and yet he’d managed to follow Knock Out for three solar cycles unnoticed. Was it wrong to follow him? Maybe. Did it make Breakdown distrustful, a tad paranoid? Absolutely. But how else was he to learn what his partner was up to?

   “That all you did?”

   “Yes.”

*********

   Knock Out was interfacing strange mechs again. Breakdown could come to no other conclusion. Knock Out disappeared from their ship by mid-day and bars were now added to Knock Out’s list of frequent stops. He said nothing to Breakdown, offered nothing. Breakdown had buffed enough scratches and paint from Knock Out’s frame to spot even the tiniest blemishes. So no matter how careful Knock Out was, Breakdown spotted the damage the moment Knock Out made it back to their ship each night.

*********

   “What did you do today?” Breakdown couldn’t help it if the question had a little more bite than usual. He was not blind. He was not stupid. He did not enjoy being played for a fool.

   “I browsed the marketplace but there wasn’t much of interest.”

   Breakdown blew out a harsh vent. “You’re sure that’s it? Nothing you want to tell me about?”

   Knock Out cocked his head and narrowed his optics in response to Breakdown’s tone. “Is something bothering you?”

   It sounded perfectly innocent. Then again, Knock Out was a talented liar. Breakdown saw enough of that the first time Knock Out tried to spark with other mechs. So why now did Knock Out refuse to tell Breakdown the plan? Why now shut him out? It felt pretty clear. Whatever Breakdown and Knock Out might have had was over. At the very least, their relationship was in its dying stages. Breakdown had been there, done that. And though he’d been dreading it in the back of his processor since they’d first become involved, he’d thought Knock Out might have the decency to call it off when the time came. At least his previous partners had told him when to frag off. This was torture.

   “Nah, nothing wrong,” Breakdown spat. “I’m just fine!”

*********

   He wanted the satisfaction of catching Knock Out in the act. He wanted to see the red mech try to lie his way out of trouble when Breakdown caught Knock Out fragging the spark out of some mech. He wanted to shout and fight and maybe beat the stranger just for good measure and then, for once in his existence, Breakdown would be the one to call an end to a failing relationship. The high grade in his system would certainly make the task easier and he was counting on more high grade to help him get over it afterward. Even after all the lying and the pain, he’d still hate losing Knock Out.

   He’d followed Knock Out to the bar and watched him slip out the back with another mech in what had to be some sort of record time for a pickup. Breakdown knocked back two cubes of the strongest sludge the barkeep offered and headed for the alley door with purpose.

   The noise gave away their position first. Strangled grunts and moans floated from behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. Breakdown brought out his trusty hammer, the transformation never felt more satisfying. Knock Out’s bright red armor was a dead giveaway and Breakdown caught a glimpse of it through a gap in containers. That’s how Breakdown knew Knock Out was on top, how he knew the red mech wouldn’t even see him coming until it was too late, until he was thoroughly and totally caught with no hope of misdirection or excuses.

   Breakdown was surprisingly calm when he turned a tight corner to find Knock Out straddling another mech.

   “Get up,” Breakdown’s voice shook less than his hand as he grabbed Knock Out by the upper arm and hauled him upright.

   “Breakdown?” Knock Out blinked once and then twice as he stared open-mouthed. Then the mech seemed to find his wits and nearly threw himself between his blue partner and the mech on the ground. “Breakdown, don’t!”

   Breakdown was beyond orders and managed to shuffle the smaller mech out of his way without damage. He’d give Knock Out a piece of his processor just as soon as he got rid of the piece of trash he was fragging. The stranger lounged on the ground, his chest wide open. In a spark-shattering moment, Breakdown realized he actually caught Knock Out in the middle of a spark bond; an action so intimate that Breakdown and Knock Out had never done it in all their time together. Because Knock Out couldn’t. Because he was already in a permanent bond before he even met Breakdown. Or so he said.

   “Breakdown, please don’t smash him!” Knock Out’s protest barely registered through Breakdown’s rage and each time the smaller mech grabbed for Breakdown’s weapon, it only riled the former Wrecker further.

   A good shrug was all it took for Breakdown to send Knock Out sprawling to the ground. He’d intended just to scare Knock Out’s new fling, wave his hammer and watch the strutless coward flee, but now a dark part of his spark knew he was going to kill this stranger. If Knock Out watched, it made no difference.

   That was the case, until Breakdown realized the mech in front of him hadn’t moved. He hadn’t put up any kind of fight, hadn’t so much as protested the intrusion. Only then did Breakdown notice the energon covering the mech’s dark armor and pooled beneath. A closer look showed his chest had not split cleanly along transformation seams, it had been sliced open. The armor had been pried back to reveal a spark that was spinning much too slowly. Breakdown struggled to make sense of it and was finally forced to turn to his partner. “Knock Out, what is this? What happened?”

   Knock Out’s fine features were contorted in more emotion than Breakdown had seen or felt from him in ages. The red mech rose slowly, reluctantly, the perfect picture of a youngling who'd been brutally reprimanded, to stand beside his partner. Knock Out was undamaged and the only thing out of place was the nearly imperceptible amounts of energon splattered on his chest and arms. His first attempt at explanation was little more than a twisted whisper. “Breakdown, I’m sorry.”

   Somehow, Breakdown just knew that none of the energon belonged to his smaller partner. “Knock Out, what did you do?”

   “I didn’t want you to see.” Knock Out’s remorseful whisper sent a chill down Breakdown’s back. “I knew you wouldn’t approve. You know, ‘Autobot’s value all life’ and such.”

   Breakdown held his vent until it became almost more painful than the knot in his sparkchamber. “Did he attack you?” He prompted hopefully.

   “No,” Knock Out answered in truth.

   “Then what did you do?” Breakdown’s anger twisted in his voice and his EM field as it tried to find a target but was torn in a dozen different directions.

   With an exvent bordering on a sigh, Knock Out held his hand out flat and then flicked his wrist in a loose chopping motion. Breakdown flinched when the shapely, silver hand transformed into a whirring rotary saw. What had split the downed mech’s chest was no longer a mystery.

   “Where did-“ Breakdown shook his head. He’d watched Knock Out pick through enough market stalls and visit enough medical centers. ‘Where’ was not the real question. “Why, Knock Out?”

   The former Decepticon blessedly retracted his new saw and crouched next to the downed mech. The scant alley lighting was barely enough to distinguish shapes and colors by and the mech's sputtering spark didn't provide much light either. Breakdown was grateful that he couldn't see much detail when Knock Out gestured to the mech's exposed spark chamber. “I needed to see this. Texts and datapads are one thing but I needed to see moving parts. I needed a living model.”

   Breakdown’s horrified face only prompted Knock Out to explain further in a hurried rush.

   “Sparkchambers are formed in the last quarter-vorn of a sparkling's development.”

   “Primus…no.” Breakdown’s slow understanding mingled with a sense of dread. Knock Out continued completely unfazed.

   “That’s consistently when the defect hits. We can’t take them early, they won’t live without a fully-formed sparkchamber. But we could make one. They did it all the time on Cybertron. It’s still done in drones. Look, you see this part here?”  Knock Out pointed feverishly to some inner working of the mech’s spark chamber. Breakdown was too queasy to look. “I didn’t understand how the pieces were vital but you can see them all working simultaneously here.”

   “Knock Out, stop!”

   The red mech complied with a jerk, frame frozen in surprise and optics wide open. There was something creeping behind that hypnotic blue, something almost feverish and warped. Breakdown didn’t know what to do, how to stop it. But they couldn't stay where they were.  “Did…did you get what you need?”

   “No,” Knock Out blinked and that twisted desperation seemed to retreat a fraction. “I cut a little too deep, ruined some of these ventral pieces.”

   He tutted, disappointed in his skills but not in his actions.

   Breakdown swallowed around the lump that had taken up a painful residence in his intake and nodded to the mech lying in the alley. “And him? Is he dead?”

   “No," Knock Out's optics faded to dull blue, "but I'm sure he will be soon enough.”

   The mech seemed to react to this but it was just a violent gurgle, probably energon backing up in his intake. Breakdown swallowed again. To think, a moment ago he had thought those sounds were pleasureable moans, apparently they were just the last pathetic pleas of a dying mech. The alley was quiet now but that didn't mean it would stay that way. Knock Out and Breakdown couldn't stay long enough to be sure the mech actually passed. Neither could they leave him. The mech had surely seen enough of Knock Out to point someone in their direction if he was discovered in time. Breakdown couldn't risk it.

   Breakdown hefted his hammer and tried to put his processor somewhere else. He’d put down mechs before, a small mercy for soldiers on the battlefield who were suffering and far beyond repair. But this was not war. It wasn’t even self-defense. This was murder. He looked to Knock Out. The red mech stood calmly, his optics back to their dull stare.

   Breakdown wasn’t sure when it had happened or what had done it but something in Knock Out was broken.

   Or maybe that’s just the way Knock Out had always been.


	12. Chapter 12

   It started with sparkchambers. But it did not end there. Soon it was transformation cogs, fuel pumps, and even processors. There was nothing Knock Out wanted to leave to chance. So he examined, documented, and dissected…everything.

   At some point, Breakdown ceased to discourage the practice, so lost in his concern for Knock Out that he had no compassion left to spare for their victims. After a vorn of watching the red mech find something almost like peace in the methodical dissection of others, Breakdown said absolutely nothing against the practice.

******************

    They never intended to travel this close to Cybertron but the reality was that there were fewer Cybertronians to be found by the day. They used to be on every outpost, every waystation; thirty percent of the inhabited planets in the adjacent quadrants of space had hosted some Cybertronian population. Now they all seemed to have disappeared. Maybe they had just travelled to the farthest regions of charted space to escape Cybertron’s seemingly permanent civil war or maybe they were all simply dying off. Whatever the reason, it was becoming harder and harder to find more mechs to advance Knock Out’s medical knowledge.

   The fewer Cybertronians they encountered, the more it began to weigh on Breakdown. A large part of him never quite accepted murder as the best solution or even accepted the creation of sparklings as the best justification for murder. He wasn’t spiritual by any means but if Primus really existed as some kind of god of life and creation…well he would be pretty pissed at Knock Out and Breakdown because they were certainly doing their own part to thin out their race.

   Though, what was Breakdown supposed to do? Knock Out wasn’t quitting anytime soon. Breakdown couldn’t just call it all off and leave Knock Out. No way. Not now. Not with the red mech the way he was… yeah, Knock Out was a Decepticon not long ago and, yeah, they had some pretty twisted morals but Knock Out… Knock Out never batted an optic. No matter how many times they did this, no matter how many mechs they killed, he never flinched. There was something seriously wrong with that.

   Breakdown couldn’t help but think that was his responsibility in a way. He’d seen bots go off the deep end; Wrecker life was anything but peaceful or glamourous. And hadn’t Knock Out’s past been much the same way? It was Breakdown’s fault for not noticing the change before it was too late or not doing enough to stop this dark streak that seemed to swell and consume Knock Out.

    But then there were times when Knock Out was…Knock Out. Or maybe a nicer version of Knock Out. Not quite back to that sickening false happiness when they were trying to pick up their next target but some version of Knock Out that was…well, like the first Knock Out Breakdown had known. Like the one that used to tell jokes that were almost too clever for the blue bot to understand, who smiled when he thought Breakdown wasn’t watching, who sheepishly apologized if he accidentally pushed a conversation too far and could never seem to snuggle close enough when they first shared a berth.

   Breakdown wasn’t sure Knock Out was a thing that could even be fixed. It wasn’t some horrid disposition that came and went. Knock Out was either wholly dark and disconnected, murdering without care, or he was himself: slightly emotionally pained but seemingly oblivious to his colder side’s atrocities. He was two distinct mechs in the same frame. As long as Breakdown kept the two Knock Outs separate, his Knock Out and the one that was broken, it made the killing a little easier. And when they settled into their berth, it was always the old Knock Out that Breakdown gripped tightly.


	13. Chapter 13

   Knock Out could feel it...the cold disconnect that began the moment he chose a target. And, distantly, he was thankful that it did not hurt. It seemed part of him might have been bothered by the task...at some point. Maybe.

   He became almost a passenger in his own frame watching his hand, his rotary saw go to work. Processor space that might have been used for things like sympathy or remorse was utilized to study and store the minute mechanical details of Cybertronian systems.

   Of course he noted the steel wall of Breakdown’s face, the way the larger mech tried to hide his unease. How could he miss it when the look of loving adoration was replaced with fear and disgust?

   It was all a means to an end. Knock Out thought it with each mech he dissected and the thought, repeated over and over, became his lullaby while tucked tightly against Breakdown's chest each night. He would give Breakdown what he wanted…

   ...what he deserved...

      …what he was owed…

          …even if Knock Out had to build their sparkling from the basest code.

   Then Breakdown would light up with love again.

   And they could just sweep all of this away.

   Knock Out only had to get them that far.


	14. Chapter 14

  It was just Knock Out’s luck. On his worktable sat a sparkchamber, carefully constructed to proper scale, delicate, perfect… absolutely useless without a spark to give it life.

  They had tried. Primus, they had tried! But after vorns of increasingly desperate attempts and not a single sparkling- whole or otherwise- to show for it, Knock Out was finally forced to reach a conclusion. He simply couldn't. Whether it was his frame or his spark, some part of him was incapable of kindling any more. Maybe the long vorns of failed attempts had scarred his systems beyond recovery. Perhaps his spark simply couldn't handle anymore pain. 

  “You were right." Knock Out whispered to the room's only other occupant. "I can’t do it.”

   Breakdown had been watching from the doorway for what felt like an eternity as his partner turned the little sparkchamber over and over in his palm. It made his own spark ache. “Knock Out-”

  “I didn’t want to believe it.” Knock Out sighed shakily without ever turning from the cold metal in his hand. “I thought if I just wanted strongly enough, if I was willing to do anything…”

   “It’s ok, Knock Out.” Breakdown left his post at the door and tentatively brushed a hand over Knock Out’s helm. The red mech ducked away from the touch and clenched his fingers tightly over the little sparkchamber.

   “It's not! How could I be so pathetically naïve?” His fingers tightened until a sharp cracking noise startled both mechs. Knock Out opened his hand just enough to see the jagged split he'd made in the sparkchamber. When he realized what he’d done, Knock Out snarled and tightened his fist to crush the sparkchamber completely.

   Breakdown winced. There had been so much work, so many lives given to the making of that one tiny piece.  “Maybe we could-“

   “No!” Knock Out cut off his partner so sharply that Breakdown’s hand simply stopped and hovered halfway to its destination on Knock Out’s shoulder. “No. It’s over. I’m done. I lost! We've been trying for ages. Forget carrying one to term, I can’t even kindle anymore! Building a chamber means nothing. I could build the whole frame but I cannot create a spark! I cannot give you…”

  Here, Knock Out stopped to suck in a vent where he might have otherwise choked on the word. Even after, he could not finish the thought aloud. Knock Out’s face convulsed in a dark and twisted pain just before the mech’s EM field flared in white-hot fury and he chucked the broken sparkchamber against the far wall where it exploded in a shower of debris. He hid his face behind tightly balled fists and braced shaking shoulders against the wall behind him.

   Breakdown shut his optics as he tried to center himself, to be the calming force the other mech needed him to be. The blue mech hovered just out of reach but close enough to let his field smooth the sharp edges of Knock Out’s. He dared not touch the red mech for fear of driving him further away. If he tipped Knock Out into that darker part of himself, who knew how the former Decepticon would punish himself in his own processor or how long before Breakdown would see _his_ Knock Out again. “Knock Out, can I say something?”

   But the mech surprised Breakdown with a question of his own, whispered bitterly through shielding arms. “Why are you even still here?”

   Breakdown blinked twice as he tried to wrap his processor around it but could only keep coming back to the obvious so he stated it as such. “Because I love you.”

   Knock Out grimaced and sank to the floor shaking his head. His voice was tight, frantic. “Breakdown, I don’t have anything left. And after everything you’ve done for me... I can’t! Breakdown, I can’t ever repay you. I owe you too much.”

   “Owe me?” That sent Breakdown’s processor reeling. His pulse pounded and he thought he might purge. He swore they'd talked about this but either Breakdown hadn't made himself clear or Knock Out hadn't understood. To realize Knock Out had thought this way the whole time… “Is that what you think this is, Knock Out? Debts and favors? Knock Out, you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to pay me by interfacing or giving me sparklings or anything! Everything I’ve done was outta love.”

   Knock Out flinched at the word again and curled into himself. Breakdown really was going to be sick.

  “And you…” Breakdown swallowed against the lump in his intake as he found himself kneeling on the floor just in front of Knock Out. Gently, he pulled the red mech's hands from Knock Out's face so they could see each other. Because Breakdown needed to say this and Knock Out needed to hear it, “…and you don’t even have to love me back. Knock Out, love is something you give because you want to, because you can’t stop yourself. It’s not because you expect anything from it. I mean, you hope they love you back but... It was never supposed to be a debt you had to work off.”

  Knock Out’s brow furrowed, anguish strained the space around his optics. “That’s not an even trade.”

   “Yeah, if you’re looking at it like that, then it’s not.” Breakdown rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged in amazement. “But that’s love, I guess. Noone falls in love because it makes sense.”

   “Breakdown, there’s nothing left of me worth having.” Knock Out scoffed in self-loathing. “I can’t accept everything you’ve done and give you nothing in return. I can’t do that to you. You're worth so much.”

   Breakdown clenched his dental plates. Explaining love to Knock Out was like trying to explain color to the blind. Finally he exhaled a long vent. He could show Knock Out. He’d figure out a way. Breakdown’s hands wiggled and pried their way into Knock Out’s fists to banish the tension there. When he dipped his helm to rest against Knock Out’s, it did not matter that he couldn’t see the red mech’s face. He could feel Knock Out ease ever so slightly, their fields melted together in a needy, shaken mess. “And what are you worth? It sure ain't 'nothing.' Stay with me. If you have to owe me, then _you_ are more than enough. You’re gorgeous, and at least twice as smart as I am. I went back for you on Cybertron because I want you. You, just as you are…that’s all I want, Knock Out.”

   Knock Out vibrated in a full-frame shudder and his field roiled with anxiety but his hands tightened on Breakdown's shoulders and the blue bot could feel the relief trickle into Knock Out's EM field as the two burrowed into each other's frame.

   "No more worrying about sparklings," Breakdown murmured as he snuggled against Knock Out's helm. "No more 'owing' me. Ok?"

   The smaller mech released a vent that might have carried the weight of Cybertron with it. The move left Knock Out lax, supported only by Breakdown's chest and arms.  "Ok."

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some made up aliens. Tried to use ones that already existed in the TF universe and just thought 'Aw, screw it. It's fanfic. Might as well make the species I want instead of trying to fit one of the (surprisingly few) existing races into the part I need them to fill.' Expect some G1-esque creatures to come.  
> *edit* Lies! I happened to stumble upon a race while reading the More than Meets the Eye comics that will serve perfectly. Bwahahaha!  
> If you'd like to read up on them, here's the wiki.  
> http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Stentarian  
> But honestly, it's short and I'm going to play around with them anyway soooo, whatevs.

 

   It had started as a good orn. Breakdown and Knock Out had finally found a peace and it felt like the days before the deep obsession with sparklings and the murders to facilitate the advancements of said obsession. Knock Out lounged sideways in the copilot’s chair as he scrolled through a medical text he’d read countless times. Occasionally, he’d shoot Breakdown a soft grin and Breakdown always caught them seeing as how he devoted the bare minimum attention to actually piloting the ship. For the first time in vorns, life was almost easy for Breakdown and Knock Out.

   They were tracking a small ship’s distress call with a vague plan to scavenge whatever they could if the Cybertronians inside just happened to succumb to whatever threatened them. They followed the signal to a small planetoid with its own ring but the closer they drew, the more apparent it became. The ring was not made of minerals or cosmic dust. It was an orbital graveyard, countless ships blown to nothing but metal scrap and tangles of wire with barely identifiable bits of Cybertronians in the macabre mix. The debris was so thick that Breakdown slowed their ship’s speed to nearly nothing lest they take irreparable damage in a collision.

   “The pit happened here?” Knock Out vented in wonder and stood for a better look out their ship’s front viewport. There was no sign of the ship that sent the distress signal.

   “Whatever it was, I don’t like it," Breakdown muttered. They’d already travelled much farther into the debris field than was wise. Breakdown immediately set about changing course for any place that was not the current one. "We’re getting out of here.”

   The Decepticon warship took them completely by surprise as it shed its cloaking and seemed to slip into existence in front of them.

   A wave of fear crashed over Breakdown and Knock Out and paralyzed them with the sheer weight of their sudden predicament. Their private craft was nothing compared to the Decepticon ship, not quite a flagship but a destroyer for certain. And with the firepower to live up to it's classification.

   Breakdown broke the suffocating silence. “Do they see us?”

   “Of course they see us.” Knock Out vented heavily. A blinking space on the communication console showed the distress signal was still going strong. Knock Out scoffed and shook his head. “I dare say the Decepticons have been waiting for us. For us and every other ship foolish enough to fall for their false distress signal.”

   “We can outrun them,” Breakdown gritted his dental plates though his hands hovered uncertainly over the controls.

   Knock Out sat heavily in the copilot’s chair, transfixed by the massive destroyer that filled their tiny craft’s viewport.  “No, we can’t. You and I both know it.  _They_ know it.”

   The blue mech tensed and nodded to a new flashing notification on the console. “Knock Out, we’re being hailed.”

   Neither dared move. A plasma shot skimmed just close enough to their craft’s left wing to displace their meager shielding and send proximity sirens whining. A simple warning shot.

   “Fraggit!” Knock Out cursed and punched the button to open intership comms. “Private ship to Decepticon destroyer. Please hold fire. We carry neutrals.”

   The Decepticon line flooded Breakdown and Knock Out’s ship with a voice that might have been considered refined but carried a coldness that hinted at a more brutal nature. The slight rasp also struck Knock Out as vaguely familiar. “We detect Cybertronian life forms inside. Are you loyal Decepticons or Autobot scum? State your faction or prepare to be fired upon.”

   Knock Out clenched his fists and purposefully did not bring up the fact that they’d already been fired upon, warning shot or not. “We side with neither faction. We are a neutral, private craft.”

   “There can be no such thing as neutrality for Cybertronians.” The Decepticon voice was almost amused. Though whether that amusement was a result of Knock Out’s claim or some other inside joke, was unclear. “I will generously ask again. What is your faction?”

   Breakdown and Knock Out exchanged a look. No recognition of neutrality meant that the Decepticon army allowed only one choice.

   “I’m not a patient mech,” the Decepticon voice prodded. “Swear Decepticon loyalty and surrender or be added to our… local art project.”

   Breakdown couldn’t count the number of unsuspecting ships that made up this floating graveyard around them. And unless they surrendered, they would simply be one more in a long list. But what were the chances of survival if they did surrender? Knock Out was a Decepticon deserter. Breakdown was once an Autobot Wrecker. It was difficult to tell which of them stood a better chance in a Decepticon brig.

   “I’ll give you a moment to deliver your unconditional surrender.” The grin was audible in the Decepticon’s voice.

   Knock Out smashed the mute button. “Frag!”

   “Knock Out, what do we do?” Breakdown’s fist flexed, he wanted to bring out his hammer despite the non-existent good it could do.

   The red mech shook his helm at a loss. “Our ship doesn't possess a weapon that’ll even dent their shielding. They’ve got us point blank. Even if we can avoid their first round of fire to escape, we’ll likely be torn apart by the debris field. And if they destroy even neutrals, they’ll have no mercy when they find out who we are.”

   “I guess now’s the time to tell you,” Breakdown cleared his intake and stared resolutely at his knees. “I’ve been a Decepticon prisoner before. It wasn’t for very long but it’s not something I want to relive.”

   Knock Out nodded slowly. They didn’t talk much about what they’d done in the war but the revelation didn’t come as much of a surprise, especially given Breakdown’s dislike for dark corners and strangers. “I wouldn’t ask you to relive it. We’ve been had. It’s not how I ever planned to go but…let’s make a break for it. And if all else fails, down with the ship?”

   Breakdown’s smile was crooked, stuck partway in a grimace. He reached between their chairs to brush his hand against Knock Out's until the smaller mech grabbed his hand and squeezed back. “I think the Wreckers might have liked you. Yeah, down with the ship. And who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

   “Historically,” Knock Out chuckled sadly as he stood to pull Breakdown into a loose embrace, “we don’t have that kind of luck.”

   The former Wrecker dipped his helm in grave agreement and gathered his smaller partner in an almost crushing hug. “Frag, this is messed up! I don’t know what to say except that I love you. And that, well, been an honor I guess.”

   Knock Out laughed and shook his helm. “And a pleasure.”

   They kissed for, what was quite possibly, the last time.

   “You fly, I’ll shoot?” Breakdown murmured against Knock Out’s helm. Knock Out hummed in agreement and they reluctantly parted, hands lingering on frames for as long as possible, to take their seats.

  As he flipped the last of the switches to cut unnecessary systems and reroute the power to rear thrust, Knock Out cleared his intake. “Breakdown, you do know...you know I love you?”

   Breakdown didn’t even try to contain his smile. “I know, Knock Out. If only it took less than certain death to get the words out of you…”

   Knock Out was ready to retort when an explosion lit their viewport. The two tensed, certain the Decepticons had run out of patience but were surprised to see no damage to their shield. Another blast tore through the debris field and struck the Decepticon destroyer on its right flank.

   “Autobots?” Breakdown nearly rose from his chair as he strained for a better look.

   The ship that had come to their rescue, inadvertently or not, was decidedly not Autobot as it lacked any insignia. It was however, massive, as it dwarfed even the Decepticon destroyer.

   “Attention foreign ships,” A new voice cut into the cabin as their communications were overridden, “you have violated Ammonite space. Your surrender will be swift and unconditional. Your weapons will be neutralized and you will be escorted planetside where you will be detained.”

   “Slag!” The Decepticon voice squawked proving that the new ship had invaded all nearby comms and forced them on the same channel… though it seemed the ‘Con wasn’t quite aware of it as he was apparently shouting at his subordinates. “Idiots! You told me we were outside occupied space!”

   “We’ve been locked onto,” Knock Out noted a strange spike on the monitor an instant before their weapons and engines were remotely shut down leaving them to float in a dark cabin. “And now we’re helpless.”

  “Well,” Breakdown shrugged, “they’re not Decepticons.”

  It remained to be seen if that was a blessing.

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

   It turned out that being escorted planetside really entailed Breakdown and Knock Out’s craft being overridden by a remote pilot and descending to a planet just a short travel outside of the debris field. How the Decepticons could mistake the space as being unoccupied when a planet of this size and class rested so close was a mystery. ‘General incompetence’ was Breakdown’s suggestion. Signs of civilization were evident just shortly after entering the planet’s atmosphere. Blocky patches and clusters of light represented sprawling cities, and as they drew even closer, bustling shipdocks spread beyond sight on either side. The Decepticon ship maintained a steady pace to Breakdown and Knock Out’s left until it gently drifted away and the two neutrals unconsciously vented in relief.

   “Where do you think they’re going?” Breakdown jutted his helm in the ‘Con’s direction.

   “A larger dock perhaps.” Knock Out gestured to the ships docked below them. All were roughly the size of their own. And their makes were rather familiar. “Breakdown, these are all private, Cybertronian ships.”

   “Whoah.” Breakdown pressed closer to their viewport for a more thorough look. “You’re right. That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

   Their ship settled gracefully into dock next to all the other Cybertronian makes and then the side exit popped open of its own accord. Knock Out and Breakdown waited for a tense moment but nothing stormed their cabin as expected.

   “Well, I guess we walk ourselves out, huh?” Breakdown shrugged before leading the way.

   Outside, the docks were bursting with ships and Cybertronians of all shapes and sizes but nothing seemed to be moving. All the assembled mechs sat or leaned against any open surface they could find, none of them spared Knock and Breakdown more than a fleeting glance, and they all looked so tired. Breakdown barely made it off their ship’s ramp before he stumbled over a mini bot’s two-wheeled alt form and automatically started to apologize.

   “Don’t bother,” a nearby mech waved his hand at the two-wheeler and continued in an exhausted tone, “he’s been dead for longer than I can remember.”

   Breakdown blinked a couple of times for lack of a better response. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

   “He means DEAD.” Another mech scoffed, this one with much more bite in his voice and EM field. “Starved to death. And if I were you, I wouldn’t leave your ship just yet. Some of the more desperate mechs here will take everything you’ve got if you step away from it. Better wait for a Port Master.”

   Knock Out noted the half-crazed glint in more than a few optics of the surrounding mechs and shifted his hand a little closer to the weapon compartment in his thigh.

   “There’s the useless tower of scrap now,” the bitter mech spat with a half nod.

   A green and white mech easily twice Breakdown’s height, and obviously built with power in mind, approached from the direction of high metal walls and what Breakdown and Knock Out knew to be the city beyond. Cybertronians scrambled to get clear of its large feet as it waded through the masses. When the thing finally stopped at the base of the ship ramp, it pulled a stylus from an arm and tapped impatiently at a datapad in its other hand.

   “Port Master 1786658.” A glare accompanied the mech’s clipped introduction. He tilted his decidedly mechanical but not-quite-Cybertronian head in the direction of Breakdown and Knock Out’s ship. “I take it that’s yours. You have violated sacred Ammonite space. As recompense, your ship will be held in dock for three Stentarian cylces or you can choose to pay the fine of fifty snares.”

   “Let’s just pay it and get out of here,” Knock Out murmured from behind Breakdown. “With luck, the Decepticons will still be arguing their impound by the time we’ve left orbit.”

   Breakdown nodded. All these still Cybertronians scattered around were making him feel uneasy anyway.

   “We’ll pay the fine.” Breakdown repeated as he tipped his helm back to meet the Ammonite’s sight. “Snares are a local thing right? We’ve got shanix but we can pay on the Galactic Scale too.”

   The Port Master grinned. “Cybertronian credits trade very poorly here. Roughly an exchange rate of fifty thousand shanix to one snare.”

   Breakdown stared numbly. Fifty thousand to one was well beyond a criminal exchange per the Galactic Council. He was beginning to understand why the docks were so crowded.

   “And on the Galactic Scale?” Knock Out dared ask.

   The Port Master grinned a little wider. “We simply do not trade on the Galactic Scale.”

   Knock Out gritted his dental plates. “And a Stentarian cycle is…”

   “In Cybertronian, roughly six vorn. If you want that in Galactic standards…”

   That’s when Breakdown’s hammer emerged reflexively. “You cannot keep us prisoner for six vorn!”

   Knock Out barely caught the warrior’s arm in time to halt a rushing attack on the Port Master. For his part, the Ammonite official didn’t even blink. He simply scribbled something on his pad and made a disapproving clicking sound with his intake.

   “You’re not prisoners. Certainly not.” The Port Master did a slightly better job of containing his grin this time. After a series of beeps, the data pad spit out a thin sheet of blue metal and the Ammonite offered it to the two Cybertronians with a flourish. “You are free to enter the adjoining city center at any time and may leave our planet the moment you either pay your fine or complete your impound time.”

   Breakdown was too busy vibrating with anger so Knock Out reached up far above his head to snatch the offered sheet.

   “And be certain you don’t lose your ticket.” The port Master added. “You cannot pay your fine without it. Also note the additional two snare charge for attempted assault on a Port Master. Have an excellent stay.”

   With one last smirk that set Breakdown snarling, the Ammonite turned and headed straight back for the high walls at the other end of the docks where he’d come from. Breakdown was stuck transforming between root hands and his hammer as his anger fluctuated. “Knock Out, I’m not letting us stay on this planet to waste away!”

   “Would you rather I let you fight that thing?” Knock Out frowned. “I’m sure there’s some other way.”

   “Hey,” Knock Out nodded to one of the mech’s they’d spoken with earlier. “There’s no way mechs are simply waiting around here for six vorn. How do we get out of this place?”

   The mech, the one who sounded chronically exhausted, pointed deliberately to the starved frame of the two-wheeler. “Most of us haven’t got a choice but to wait around for six vorns. Haven’t seen a neutral make it off world yet. Early on some tried to pool their resources. Sold everything they had and stuffed as many mechs into a single ship as they could. But then the Ammonites introduced a fine for ships by weight, then a fine to launch. It never stops. Sure, you can try to actually earn snares in town but the work is just shy of slavery. You’re lucky if the pay's enough to keep you alive.”

   “That’s criminal,” Knock Out spat.

   “By Galactic standards maybe. But the Stentarian race, Ammonites and Terradores both, are blacklisted from the Council on account of their crazy civil war. Same as Cybertronians. Council probably doesn’t give a scrap about what we do to each other. To Stentarians, we’re just cheap labor stuck on the docks until they recycle what’s left of us.”

   “Why don’t you fight back?” Breakdown barked.

   The tired mech just stared back with a cold, hard light in his optics. “Have at it, champ. You see that Port Master that was just here? The one the size of a three-bot combiner? That’s small for Stentarian.”

   “Of course, you could always join up,” another voice supplied grimly.

   Knock Out turned to the second mech from earlier, the one that was decidedly more bitter than he was tired. “Join up? With the Ammonites?”

   “No, the Decepticons.” The mech smirked and waved his hand lazily overhead. “Saw a ship coming in the same time you did. Decepticons and Autobots; they’re the only ones who ever make it off world. 'Cuz they got weapons to trade. If you’re skilled enough and if you don’t mind siding with the bastards, you might make it off on their ship. Rumor is there’s an Autobot ship out there too that’ll be leaving soon. But I can’t say either one is better than the other. Most of us neutrals would rather starve and let the Port Masters sweep up the shells.”

   “How do we get to the Autobots?” Breakdown blurted.

   The bitter mech sneered in Breakdown and Knock Out’s direction. “Sellouts."

   The tired mech just sighed. “Might as well give that idea up right now.”

   “Why?” Breakdown demanded.

   “Because, son, they’re just as dangerous as the Decepticons. They’re Wreckers.”

  


	17. Chapter 17

     The Ammonite city was not the sort of place a sane mech would have visited willingly. It was less a city and more of a ramshackle marketplace full of trash, weary mechs, and misshaped stalls surrounded by bars to protect the Ammonites inside. A mech could buy energon from any stall…at the price of a high-end apartment on Cybertron. If a mech happened to be short on Stentarian snares, there were other stalls where a mech could take on the kind of work Ammonite’s would not dare, or sell their own parts, or even apply to be cannon fodder in the Stentarian civil war and have a small ration sent to a survivor. And those were the transactions that took place in the daylight. Primus new what kind of deals were happening in dark alleys!

   Knock Out and Breakdown had sold everything but the ship by the end of the first three weeks. But they did not return to the crowded market time and again for local currency. They were hunting Autobots; Wreckers, if the rumors were to be believed. Unfortunately, and probably purposefully, the large docks that housed warships were kept separate from the civilian craft but they shared the same depressing marketplace. Because Breakdown and Knock Out could not walk straight to an Autobot ship and request assistance, they were forced to wander the market over and over straining for a glimpse of an Autobot badge; No easy feat in an area crammed to bursting with mechs of all sizes with no place better to go. If the buzz in the market was true, the Wrecker’s were slated to leave any day now. If Breakdown and Knock Out didn’t make contact before that happened, the time would come to start selling off more than knickknacks and rotary buffers.

   And still, after three weeks of all-day searching, there had been no sign of Autobots. Breakdown was ready to call it time to return to their ship as the sun set. If the market was dubious in the light, it was a parade of the most desperate and atrociously one-sided transactions when darkness crept in. There was a morning body sweep for crying out loud! He wanted Knock Out as far away from it all as possible.

   It was something about the particular shade of green that made Breakdown pause mid-stride. He stepped backward to clear his line of sight and his jaw dropped open in the revalation of sheer dumb luck.

   “It’s Bulkhead,” he muttered in awe when the mech turned just enough for Breakdown to glimpse the Wrecker’s face.

   Knock Out stopped too and backpedaled to join the blue mech. “It’s who?”

   “It’s Bulkhead!” Breakdown sagged briefly in relief before he grabbed Knock Out’s hand and began to shoulder his way through the crowd toward the big, green mech partially hidden by a stall. “There really are Wreckers here! It’s Bulk!”

   Knock Out flinched but otherwise kept the frantic pace with his partner. “You mean the big one who wanted to kill me?”

   Breakdown smiled, not at the memory but in absolute giddy satisfaction. Something was finally going their way! “Don’t worry. You’re not a ‘Con anymore. He’ll help us. Hurry, before he gets-“

   Breakdown jerked to a stop when he spied a white mech next to Bulkhead.

   Wheeljack.

   Breakdown remembered that Bulk had voted to terminate Knock Out during that first meeting but that was a Wrecker’s gut reaction to a ‘Con. Bulk was a sweet mech at his core, Breakdown’s best friend. Breakdown knew he could convince the green mech that Knock Out was harmless. But Breakdown also remembered the things Wheeljack had proposed they do with Knock Out all those vorns ago on Cybertron. The swordmech had always been a little on the unpredictable side. Breakdown was not certain that Wheeljack didn’t mean every horrible torture he’d threatened. “Maybe you should stay here Knock Out. Just for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Breakdown?” Knock Out did not like the panic on orange faceplates as Breakdown pushed him into an alley and gestured for him to stay put before rushing off. A quick kiss to his helm was not enough to soothe Knock Out's irritation at being left behind. “Breakdown!”

   Breakdown was already half a block away and slipping into another alley for cover. Wheeljack might be a bit difficult to deal with but if Breakdown could sneak up and get Bulkhead’s attention first, explain the situation, the green mech could undoubtedly sway Wheeljack in turn.

   The blue mech came around on the far side of the stall where the two Wreckers looked some object over. A sudden raucous across the street caught Wheeljack’s attention for just a moment and Breakdown used the opportunity to catch Bulkhead’s focus. The two made optic contact and immediately Breakdown gave the familiar Wrecker hand signals to rendezvous in the next alley. Bulk stared open-mouthed for a moment before slowly sending back an affirmative sign. Breakdown could sense the green mech’s thoughts before he could even turn to Wheeljack.

_//Not Jack! Just you.//_

   Breakdown was relieved to find Bulkhead’s personal comm hadn’t changed in all these vorns and the green mech nodded in understanding. By the time Bulkhead was muttering some excuse to leave Wheeljack, Breakdown was waiting in the appointed location and already panicking about what he would actually say to the best friend he’d known on Cybertron.

_‘Sorry for fallin’ off the face of the planet without warning! Hey, remember that ’Con jet you wanted to kill? We’re kind of a package deal now and if you don’t take us with you, we’re both gonna starve to death in this disgusting pit.’_

When Bulkhead slipped into the alley, Breakdown actually tensed a little. But before Breakdown could start spewing explanations and begging for favors, Bulkhead swept him up into a crushing hug.

   “Primus, Breakdown!” The Wrecker exclaimed directly into Breakdown’s audial making his whisper sound like a shout. “We thought you were scrapped! The frag happened to you, buddy?”

   Breakdown exvented shakily and returned the hug with a quick pat on the back to indicate there was urgent business to get to. “It’s…it’s a really long story, Bulk. Look, I need your help real bad. If you’re leaving this planet, I need you to take me with you.”

   “Yeah, yeah of course!” Bulkhead pulled back just enough to look Breakdown over. “Slag, I can’t believe you’ve been alive all this time! But what’s the deal not calling Jackie over? He’s gonna be thrilled to see you.”

   Breakdown kept half his attention on the alley mouth just to be sure said mech wasn’t going to pop up soon. “I’m not a hundred percent sure of that just yet. Bulk, it’s not just me that needs help off world.”

   Bulkhead winced. “Breakdown, I know there’s a ton of neutrals here but we can’t take em all. And we can’t exactly fight and liberate them. We talked about it but we’re outnumbered something awful. We’d have to bring the whole Autobot army down here to-“

   “No, just…just one other.”

   “Oh,” Bulk blinked, confused if the request wasn’t to liberate the whole dock. “Yeah, I mean as long as he’s not a shuttle or something, we’ll have room. Who is it?”

   Scrap. Here it was.

   “Do you remember the last days of Vos? You, me, and Jackie…we found that downed Decepticon jet. The real sleek, red one that was busted up pretty bad? You thought we should finish him but I…”

   “…no fragging way.” The disbelief in Bulkhead’s tone was enough to stop Breakdown cold for a second.

   “Bulk-“ Breakdown rushed to explain but Bulkhead beat him to it.

   “Are you telling me you abandoned us for some ‘Con’s codpiece?”

   Breakdown swallowed the shock that clogged his intake just in time for indignant rage to kick in. “No! It’s not like that.”

   “Slag, Breakdown! It’s _always_ like that.” Bulkhead threw his arms up in exasperation. “This is what you do. You pick up some pretty piece of hardware, fall helm over aft for em and the minute they’re done taking everything they can, they leave.”

   “Knock Out isn’t like that!” Breakdown heard the plating on his back clack as it flared to release the heat that was steadily building in his frame. He’d had some real questionable partners in the past but Bulkhead had never put it quite so bluntly. And it wasn’t like Bulkhead knew anything about Knock Out.

   “Really, Breakdown? A fragging Decepticon?” The green Wrecker’s face scrunched in disgust and Breakdown’s spark sputtered before spinning wildly in panic.

   Breakdown’s tone said everything that he couldn’t.

   “Please, Bulkhead."

_Primus, don’t say ‘no’. You’re our only chance!_

   “We need your help.”

   _I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to._

   “It’s not just this place I’m worried about. I think there’s something wrong with Knock Out. He’s sick or something. There’s been a lot of problems with his carriages and I think it might have-“

   "Whoah, whoah!” Bulkhead stood ramrod straight, hands out to keep Breakdown from creeping any closer than he already had. “You deserted and now you’re floating around in space having _sparklings_ with a _‘Con_? What the frag is wrong with you?”

   “Bulk, listen!”

   “You listen!” Bulkhead shoved Breakdown hard into the wall and then pulled his hands away as if burned. For his part, Breakdown could only remain against the wall, optics wide with shock as Bulkhead verbally tore into him. “You disappeared from a _battlefield!_ We thought you were ambushed, captured, tortured. We had no idea! We turned Vos upside down looking for you and when we didn’t find you, we went for the closest batch of Decepticon’s hoping for answers. Breakdown, we lost the twins looking for you!”

   “The twins…” Breakdown felt his tank give a queasy little spin and he leaned into the wall at his back for support.

   “Yeah,” Bulkhead pushed on ruthlessly with his acid tone even as he put a little more physical distance between them, “you know, the twins?  Wreckers? Your _teammates_? _Those_ twins.  Topspin got it in his head ‘Cons were holding you behind lines and he went to save you against Magnus’ orders.”

   “Primus…”

   “And you know how Twin Twist was. Of course he had to follow his brother straight to the AllSpark.”

   “Bulkhead, I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell anyone I was leaving. You would have stopped me.”

   “That’s right. Because your team is worth more than some SLEEK. ‘CON. JET.”

   “I’m so sorry.” And he meant it. Absolutely. But the twins were dead and Knock Out still deserved a chance. “I get it. I fragged up real bad. Look, you can leave me here! I’ll pay for what happened to Topspin and Twin Twist but please get Knock Out away from here.”

   Bulkhead crossed his heavy arms as tightly as he could over his chest. “You mean your 'Con? You’re not going to convince a single Wrecker to take on the ‘Con that got two of our own killed. I’m not sure even Prime would take you up on that one.”

   Fury and absolute despair fought to take priority in Breakdown’s processor and left him dizzy. All he could think was-

   _No! NoNoNoNo! Not here. Don’t let him die here. Not because of me._

   Breakdown shook from helm to pede and didn’t care that Bulkhead could see every part of him quake. “Bulkhead, please. I’m not asking you as a Wrecker or an Autobot. I’m asking you to help me as a friend. Please, Bulk!”

   “Well, we’re not,” Bulkhead stated with a cold certainty and then clarified in case Breakdown could possibly second guess his meaning. “We’re not friends. If we were, you would never have left without a word and let the twins die. But because we _were_ , I’m going to let you leave this alley in one piece so you can go back to your ‘Con. You can tell him why you’re stuck here.”

   Bulkhead turned and headed for the alley’s mouth.

   “Bulkhead!” In his anger, Breakdown forgot to control his volume and the second he heard his voice bounce off the alley walls, he regretted it. This had gone south so fast. If Wheeljack showed up, there might be new energon added to the darker stains in the alley around them. Breakdown focused his voice to a whisper that was no less furious than his previous outburst. “Bulkhead, if you leave us here to die, I will never forgive you. We will find a way off this rock and I will make you regret this for the rest of your existence.”

   For a moment the green mech looked back but there was no indecision between the former comrades.

   “You can try,” Bulkhead shrugged.

   Whether Bulkhead meant for Breakdown to try and escape the Ammonites or to try and make Bulkhead regret turning away, it was all the same to Breakdown; a challenge and a promise that set his circuitry on fire.

   “Hey, Bulk! Where’d you go?”

   Breakdown didn’t flinch at Wheeljack’s voice but he did bring out his hammer. Bulkhead stared briefly at the weapon before shaking his head and backing away. “Coming, Jackie! Thought I saw something over here but it turned out to be worthless.”

   And with that, Bulkhead was gone along with Breakdown’s last shred of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder 'what the heck is the deal between Breakdown and Bulkhead?'  
> BTW, Twin Twist and Topspin aren't mine. They are Autobots and, in at least one universe, twins and Wreckers. Look em up on a TF wiki and you will see these two had a seriously sad end way before I killed them off.  
> Also, this chapter got a little long but Knock Out's half of this major plot point is next.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation from the previous chapter but skewing into Knock Out's perspective.

   “Breakdown?” Knock Out did not like the panic on orange faceplates as Breakdown pushed him into an alley and gestured for him to stay put before rushing off. A quick kiss to his helm was not enough to soothe Knock Out's irritation at being left behind. “Breakdown!”

   The red mech took a single halting step after his partner torn between following the warrior’s orders and simply following Breakdown. The blue mech very seldom left Knock Out behind in any situation so, certainly, there were special circumstance that Knock Out didn’t catch. But if the situation was that disconcerting, that was all the more reason for Knock Out to be there, to back up his partner.

   Knock Out made up his mind. If Breakdown was worried, Knock Out should be there. He took a single step out of the alley with every intent to follow Breakdown but three sets of wings caught his optic first. Six wings held high and tight away from the crowd and with Decepticon emblems crisply painted on them.

   Indecision tore at Knock Out for just a moment. Breakdown was with Autobots. Whatever he was concerned about, the blue mech was in no danger. Why shouldn’t Knock Out be free to secure a Plan B? Because at the core of their predicament, Breakdown and Knock Out had to find passage off world. Did it really matter where safe passage came from?

   The red mech wove his way through the crowd, slipping between mechs and never losing sight of those Decepticon brands.

   The seekers, they could only be seeker wings, were moving swiftly and Knock Out narrowly caught up to them just outside the exit to the warship docks. If they crossed over, Knock Out would be barred from the same route-those damn Ammonites saw to it that 'civilians' could not pass into a military dock. He might lose his only opportunity.

   “Wait!” Knock Out stumbled from the crowd and managed to turn the near fall into an almost graceful bow of respect.

   The nearest seeker paused briefly and Knock Out glanced up in relief. Knock Out was preparing to introduce himself but found himself speechless as he placed that purple and black paintjob…and that perpetually confused look on the seeker’s face.

   “Skywarp?”

   “Yeah, what?” The mech replied as if it was no strange thing for a mech to pop out of a crowd of thousands and know exactly who he was. But that had always been Skywarp.

   Skywarp’s idiosyncrasies could wait. There was a future to secure. Knock Out stood straight. “I’m here to join the Decepticon army.”

   If there was one thing Knock Out wasn’t prepared for, it was Skywarp’s answering laugh. “Every mech on this rock with half a processor is dying to join up. ‘Fraid we’re all full small fry. Try again next time.”

   Skywarp turned to continue, leaving Knock Out to gape at the blatant turn down. But if this was Skywarp then the other two seekers… Knock Out ignored the blue one on the far side to focus on the red and silver one, the one he knew most intimately.

   “Starscream!”

   Skywarp tried to grab Knock Out but it was far too little too late. The red grounder easily made it around the jet and was two steps from Starscream himself before a rough claw snagged his arm and dragged him backward.

   “Sorry, Star.” Skywarp growled and tightened his grip on Knock Out. “He’s a slippery one.”

   Starscream barely spared Knock Out a glance before he nodded to Skywarp.

   Apparently supposed to be Starscream’s muscle on their off ship excursion, Skywarp took it on himself to make up for his previous blunder of security by tossing Knock Out heartily back into the rabble of mechs pressing all around.

   Knock Out caught himself against another mech and screwed his face up in a hard scowl. With opportunity slipping away, Knock Out did the only thing he could think of and shouted back at the seeker trine. “Cadmium!”

   Skywarp flinched, taken by surprise by the seeming nonsequiter. But Skywarp wasn’t the important one here, Starscream was. And apparently, Knock Out had done just the right thing to get the trine leader's attention. Starscream tensed and then whirled to pick Knock Out from the crowd and fix him with a hard stare. A single brow arched high and he finally spoke.

   “Who are you?” Then in a much darker tone, “And what does that word mean to you?”

   Knock Out pulled from the crowd and stepped into the empty bubble of space that seemed to surround the three seekers and the warship dock entrance. He bowed with every bit of grace he would have used for a high ranking client like a Cybertronian senator. Or in the case of these three seekers, Cybertronian nobility. “Knock Out, at your service. And I never forget a safe word.”

   “Unreal,” the blue seeker muttered. Thundercracker, always the most reserved of the three.

   Starscream’s face split into a positively feral grin and his optics lit with recognition. “Knock Out! Well, well. What a pleasant surprise to see a mech like you all the way out here. But what in the name of Unicron have you done to your frame?”

   “Ah, these?" Knock Out showed off his wheels in what he knew to be an attractive twist of his frame. “Got into a bit of a scrape on Cybertron, one of the battles for Vos as a matter of fact. Sadly, my wings were beyond repair.”

   “So you went grounder?” Thundercracker scowled. He never was one for wheeled mechs but the blue seeker’s opinion was only one of three. Of course, given enough time, Knock Out could very well change Thundercracker’s opinion. He’d done so many times before.

   “Whoah!” Skywarp suddenly exclaimed, just now catching up to speed. “You’re Red!”

   “Yes,” Knock Out tried to smile amiably at the mech, “that was your name for me for quite some time. And I see you’re wearing deeper hues these days, quite striking.”

   Skywarp’s near purr slipped past his grin. Skywarp was always the first to crumble.

   “I wasn’t aware we had campfollowers so far out,” Thundercracker jabbed. “I think you must have set some kind of a new record, Red.”

   Knock Out forced himself to chuckle at the joke and the nickname even as demeaning as they were. “Alas, I’m no longer in the business, so I suppose you’ll have to save the honor for another mech.”

   “No longer in the business?” Skywarp practically squawked. The jets seemed more surprised by this than Knock Out’s change in alt mode.

   “Yes, well,” Knock Out did his best not to lash out, “war changes everyone, doesn’t it? Now! It just so happens that my ship has joined the many that are stranded here seemingly in infinitum. I’d very much appreciate a little lift.”

   He tipped his helm pointedly to the Decepticon ship barely visible over the high walls.

   Starscream tipped his own helm so slightly that any bot who didn’t know him might not have recognized the subtle sign. But Knock Out was very familiar with the look, the look that said ‘What’s in it for me?’ Starscream hummed and checked his claws in a wholly disinterested show. “I’m not sure we have much use for grounders in our fleet.”

   “As luck would have it, I’ve become rather proficient in surgery over the last few vorns.” It was a stretch, Knock Out knew, but he needed bargaining power and he would take it where he could get it. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind another medic aboard. And two new warriors should the need arise.”

   “Two?” Skywarp piped up, predictably confused.

   Knock Out grinned. Wings or no wings, he had not forgotten how to play these three. “Myself and my companion. A real bruiser. In fact, he’s a former Wrecker.”

   “Wrecker!” Skywarp spat the same moment Thundercracker growled, “Autobot!”

   “Ah, ah!” Knock Out raised a single hand to call for attention. “ _Former_ Wrecker. He’s given up his allegiance to travel with yours truly.”

   It's absolutely risky to be flouting Breakdown's past while bargaining for their lives but it seems infinitely safer to come out with it now than to reveal it later. 

   “A former Autobot you say.” Starscream’s drawl sent a shiver down Knock Out’s back.

   The way Starscream said ‘Autobot’ triggered a memory. It was the exact same disdainful voice that invaded the cockpit of Knock Out and Breakdown’s ship just weeks ago. No wonder it had sounded so familiar, Starscream had been directing the Decepticon ship shooting neutrals within Ammonite space. Knock Out carefully let no trace of recognition or distress cross his features. It would do no good to let Starscream know Knock Out had been at his mercy such a short time ago.

   “What guarantee do I have that your _former Wrecker-_ “ Starscream knew how to pour on the disgust, “-will not turn on us?”

   Knock Out bowed low again. “He will be loyal to you, Lieutenant Starscream."

   "It's 'Commander Starscream' now." The jet interjected with no small measure of superiority.

   The spin of Knock Out's spark doubled in speed. Commander? Second only to Megatron? When had that happened? Knock Out was truly gambling now. But if Starscream could be convinced to take on Breakdown, there would be few who could argue the former Wrecker as an addition to the Decepticon ranks.

    "He will be loyal to you, Commander Starscream. Just as I will be. I swear it.”

   With his helm down, Knock Out could feel the shared smirk of the trine even though he could not see it.

   “I’ll need proof,” Starscream stated, “a sign of your good faith.”

   That was not unexpected so Knock Out didn’t even hesitate. “Certainly. You are a cautious leader. What would you ask of me?”

   Knock Out knew what was coming. He was prepared to deal with it. He would not have come if he hadn’t already anticipated and wasn’t already fully prepared to pay a price. And he wouldn't have flirted the entire time if he hadn't intended to sway the price in a very particular direction, a direction Knock Out was certain he could afford if need be. With their history, Knock Out was sure he had Starscream's approval in the bag.

   “I’ll take _you_ ,” Starscream nodded as if he'd only just now thought of it.

   Skywarp chuckled and, though silent, Knock Out could feel the pleased hint of Thundercracker’s EM field. They had every reason to be pleased. After all, what kind of trine didn’t share and share alike?

   Knock Out tipped his helm ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Of course. But it would not hurt to try once more just in case the universe decided to smile on Knock Out for a moment. “Ah, but I don’t do that anymore. Remember? I’m a medic now.”

   “And that may prove useful to me someday,” Starscream acquiesced. “But if you’re going to join under my command, and bring along a former enemy, I will require a rather _convincing_  expression of your loyalty.”

   Starscream let that sink in as he crossed to Knock Out and pointedly flicked a single claw along the underside of Knock Out’s chin in a decidedly teasing manner and then smiled. “So, I’ll take you."

   * _flick*_

   "With Exclusive rights."

   * _flick*_

   "For the remainder of the war.”

   * _scraaaape*_

   Knock Out could not help but clamp his plating tight to his frame and it had nothing to do with the seeker's claw near his throat. Exclusive rights were nearly unheard of because they were exactly that, exclusive. It meant a single source of income for a buymech which, in turn, meant a client had better be a Senator or higher to afford such a contract. It meant interface with one mech and one mech only…unless the client decided to loan his buymech out. It meant trackers and invasive medical checkups to be sure the buymech wasn’t interfaced by anyone but their exclusive client.

   It meant Knock Out would never be able to touch Breakdown again. Not until the war ended. If it ended.

   This, Knock Out was not prepared for. This, he couldn’t do. This…was the price of their lives.

   “Of course you’ll have me,” Knock Out tried to chuckle but choked a little on it, “but exclusive rights? Forgive my presumption but is that not excessive? It seems that, as the Commander, simply staking your claim over me should be sufficient.”

   Starscream shrugged dismissively but his optics glittered in victory. “I gave my terms. If you want off this dirty little planet, you’ll be here before we take off tomorrow at first light. I’ll even have Skywarp wait at the gate for you.”

   The purple jet groaned in annoyance but Knock Out’s processor was miles away already, praying that Breakdown had made a much better deal with the Autobots.

  

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I don't tend to capitalize Transformers' group names like 'seeker', 'trine', 'minibot', etc. I've seen it both ways and this is just my preference.


	19. Chapter 19

   Knock Out ignored the first couple pings from Breakdown. He was still wracking his processor for a possible Plan C. But the longer he put off answering his partner, the more frantic the messages became until Knock Out couldn’t think over the incessant sound.

   //Breakdown, I’m fine.// Knock Out finally commed back and added a couple of nuances to show exasperation and warmth in equal parts. //I’m almost home.//

  //Be safe.// There was a distinct plea in it.

  //Always.// Knock Out replied automatically. After a moment of deliberation, he added. //How’d it go with Bulkhead?//

   Breakdown’s response was delayed and remarkably stale. //We’ll talk about it when you’re home.//

   Knock Out shuttered his optics for just a moment as he fought the tiny lurch in his tanks. Breakdown never withheld good news.

   “Went that well, huh?” Knock Out muttered in the nearly empty streets. He’d known it might be a possibility but…he’d still hoped that the notoriously soft Autobots... A strange mech that had slowly been drifting in Knock Out’s direction backed off when the red mech growled to himself. “I ought to know better by now!”

   The red mech transformed and took off the moment his tires hit the ground. It was still early in the night but morning would come soon enough and Knock Out didn’t want to waste a second of the time he had left.

***

   “You scared me,” Breakdown muttered the moment Knock Out was within hearing distance. Breakdown stood at the bottom of their ship’s ramp, door wide open and spilling light over the shipless mechs who recharged on the dock each night. Breakdown had obviously been waiting for Knock Out so he didn’t refer to the red mech's approach.

   “I’m sorry. An opportunity presented itself.” Back in root mode, Knock Out picked his way over the frames lying around with practiced ease though he stumbled a little over an outstretched leg that wasn’t usually there. The homeless mechs always recharged in the same spot. Knock Out cast the mech an extra glance to see who was out of place.

   “It’s Hitch,” Breakdown confirmed as he joined Knock Out a few steps from the ramp and brushed Knock Out’s arm in greeting. “I think they missed him in the morning sweep again.”

   Hitch, the chronically exhausted mech they’d met on their first day here, had been dead for three days. Somehow, the Port Masters kept overlooking him during body collection. Breakdown sighed and knelt to reposition the cold frame, curling Hitch in his usual recharge position. There were pieces of Hitch missing, more parts gone each morning. Knock Out looked out over the dark shapes on the dock and wondered how many of them wouldn’t make it through the night.

   Breakdown stood and Knock Out grabbed for his hand urgently.

   “What’s the matter?” Breakdown rumbled as his partner dragged him onto the ship and shut the door forcefully to seal them in the warm glow of the ship’s lights at half power.

   Knock Out didn’t give the blue mech any time to adjust before he wrapped his arms around that wider waist and latched on like he never intended to let go. “Tell me about the Autobots.”

   He had to know where things stood.

   With their frames held so tightly together, Knock Out could feel Breakdown’s engine stall.

   “…I…I messed it up.” Breakdown was the more physically imposing of the two, but sometimes his voice could sound so small it made Knock Out ache. “I shoulda lied. Shoulda told em I got caught by ‘Cons or lost…or…Knock Out, I got two Wreckers killed on Cybertron.”

   Knock Out did not speak immediately but he squeezed a little tighter to stop the tremor working its way through Breakdown’s frame.

   “What happened?” Knock Out asked softly, not because he wanted to know but because he could tell Breakdown needed to tell him.

   “They went looking for me.”

   It was easy enough to fill in the short tale so Knock Out skipped right to the point that mattered. “You didn’t ask them to.”

   “They were really young.”

   “Really stupid,” Knock Out corrected ruthlessly. “But that’s not on you. The Wreckers have to know that.”

   “That’s not how they see it." The minor shaking was back but this time it had more to do with anger than misery. "And Bulk, I’ve never seen him so mad! At least not at anybody he knew. It made me lose my temper too. I...I sorta promised to make the rest of his life miserable.”

   Knock Out let out a little disbelieving ghost of a laugh. “You did, did you? Then I can assume we won’t be joining that particular little group?”

   Breakdown broke Knock Out’s grip around his middle and slid to his knees. “Frag, I’m so sorry.”

   The blue mech didn’t know Knock Out’s version of the evening so his reaction was based solely on the knowledge that Breakdown had failed to rescue them.  That was more than enough for the former Wrecker. It was a wonder that something as whole as Breakdown’s face could appear so utterly broken. That was a face Knock Out never wanted to see again. He pulled the blue helm forward and pressed a hard kiss to it that seemed to last forever. He couldn’t possibly tell Breakdown the details of his own factional encounter.

   “We can wait for another ship, other Autobots,” Breakdown murmured into Knock Out’s chest as his trembling slowly melted away to leave him an exhausted heap.

   Large hands rose to stroke down Knock Out’s sides in a tentative apology and Knock Out threw his helm back and bit back a curse. It was such a simple touch but it seemed so much more powerful knowing there was an end to it. To never have those hands touch him again seemed an impossible price.

   They could wait for another ship. Autobot or Decepticon made no difference. They could hold out and hope for better circumstance, a more understanding or less ruthless collection of mechs. But only three weeks in this Ammonite trap had been such a long time. Any mech could easily go the way of Hitch and the starved two wheeler or any of the hundreds of mechs between. Maybe this _was_ the universe smiling on Knock Out. Maybe this opportunity was as good as it got. Did they dare throw that away on the hope of another group that may not even exist? It had to be Plan B.

   “Well,” Knock Out purred against the side of Breakdown’s head, “I say that if we can’t be Autobots, we’ll be Decepticons.”

   The hands on Knock Out’s hips stopped their soothing strokes and Breakdown’s shoulders tensed. Knock Out again kissed the helm in front of him before moving to Breakdown’s neck in comforting little pecks. “While you were with Bulkhead, I managed to find an old acquaintance of my own. Lucky for us, Decepticons aren’t quite so picky.”

   “Do…do they know who you are? Who I am?”

   “Oh, they know me.”

   But Breakdown didn’t mean personally. He meant ‘do the Decepticons know that we’re a former Autobot Wrecker and a Decepticon defector?’ Because as far as Breakdown knew, Knock Out was a Decepticon runaway. Because that was what Knock Out had told him. And that was the story Knock Out intended to perpetuate. Because Knock Out knew he _would_ have been a Decepticon if allowed. And because it’s such a simple lie, so close to the truth but yet so far from it, and Knock Out doesn’t want Breakdown to carry the pain of knowing otherwise.

   “It’s all taken care of.” Knock Out smoothed his hands along Breakdown’s back and pressed into the warm frame in front of him. Primus, he was going to miss that warmth. “All we have to do is be there at dawn.”

   The room was silent save the brush of metal on metal until Breakdown pulled his face away from Knock Out’s plating to stare up, uncertainty etched all around flaring yellow optics.

   “Knock Out, I don’t think I can." After a second of reflection, Breakdown shook his head and came back with more conviction. "I can't be a Decepticon.”

   Knock Out’s blue optics met Breakdown’s soft gold. They’d brushed on their fundamental differences in ideals though never truly addressed those issues. To Breakdown, Decepticons were evil. It was plain and simple like a fairytale. But millions of years of war left no bot with clean hands or pure motives. If Knock Out could save them both from a slow death on this Ammonite planet, he could certainly save Breakdown from his own stilted morals and perceptions.

   Knock Out’s hands took up a slow caress against Breakdown’s face and he whispered just low enough for Breakdown to hear. “Didn’t you leave the Autobot’s for me?”

   Breakdown winced a little as he thought it over. “Yeah, but that’s not the same as being a -“

   “What are Autobots anyway?” Knock Out whispered conspiratorially. “The good guys? The heroes? Didn’t an Autobot just abandon us to waste away on this planet?”

   Breakdown’s grip tightened fractionally on Knock Out’s hips. The red mech knew what he was doing and he had no intention of letting up. He let his EM field pulse his disgust but also his sympathy for Breakdown.

   “Aren’t you being punished because two of your teammates went after you like good teammates should?"

   A low growl worked up in the back of Breakdown’s throat.

   “Didn’t Autobots callously turn you down when you asked for their help?"

   Knock Out broadcast his appreciation of the warrior through their fields to let him know he was valued.

   "Didn’t they throw you away like you’re worth nothing to them?”

   Knock Out broadcast his gratitude and awe to let Breakdown know he was wanted _here_. Knock Out let those thoughts add to his words until Breakdown quaked in a twisted mix of rage and desire. Finally, Knock Out slipped his face against Breakdown’s on his way to vent into the blue mech’s audial. “Do they mean more to you than I do?”

   Breakdown snapped. The growl rumbled through Knock Out’s neck and he clamped his hands down on Breakdown’s shoulders in reflexive response just before Breakdown’s arms wrapped around and crushed their frames together. Breakdown’s powerful legs flexed on both sides of Knock Out and the two mechs fell to the floor. Knock Out didn’t worry for a second, he knew Breakdown’s arms would take the impact beneath his back.

   “Nothing means more to me than you,” Breakdown snarled and ground their frames together until Knock Out could barely vent.

   A surge of pride and lust lanced through Knock Out’s spark and he almost forgot the task at hand. He arched up into Breakdown even as he fought that haze of complete arousal. “If I mean more than some self-righteous Autobots, then you’re already a Decepticon.”

   Breakdown did not argue that as he smashed his lips into Knock Out’s and tugged at the smaller red frame, trying to get impossibly closer even as he ground his little partner into the floor. Knock Out groaned and wrapped his legs over Breakdown’s hips to assist in the near full-body merge. The chronometer on the ship's dash reminded Knock Out that they had a very near expiration date. But they had time. Knock Out clamped his optics shut and offlined them for good measure.

   Later. He could deal with everything else later.

***

   It was after the dust had settled and the two lay in an intwined heap of cooling metal when Knock Out knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. The chronometer on the dash ticked away with a deafening thud even though it was a digital device with no tones. Knock Out was tired, heavy with the weight of what he had to say and still dizzy from the physical pleasure they’d just shared. Breakdown, who normally would have been more than half way to recharge beneath Knock Out’s sprawled frame, was uncharacteristically alert. He must have been ready for another round given the way his fingers brushed the back of Knock Out’s thighs, pointedly closer and closer to Knock Out’s interface cover in a way that never failed to get them both going again. And, oh, how Knock Out wished they had time. But then he would always wish for just one last round, one last touch.

   “Now what’s the matter?”

   Breakdown’s rumble startled Knock Out despite the bruiser’s obvious attempts to be gentle.

   “I can feel something’s not right,” Breakdown persisted.

   Knock Out’s EM field fluttered at the small brush of Breakdown’s own colored in warm concern. Frag! He’d let his guard down and forgotten his field entirely.

   “Felt wrong ever since you got back.” Breakdown’s strong hands petted the space between Knock Out’s wheels.

   This time, Knock Out was careful not to let the agony of that sweet gesture bleed all over Breakdown.

   “I need to talk to you,” Knock Out sighed before continuing reluctantly, “about being a Decepticon.”

   Breakdown’s hands didn’t stop their caresses. He simply grunted for his partner to continue. Poor mech had no idea.

   “We won’t be able to do this anymore,” Knock Out let it rush out but it still left a bad taste in his mouth.

   “Do what?” Breakdown asked as one wandering hand cupped a wheel and a finger dipped behind to brush at the axel.

   “This,” Knock Out gritted out as he grabbed Breakdown’s hand and forced it to still. “Everything! Anything! ...Us.”

   “…you mean I can’t touch you?” Breakdown’s optics where wide in disbelief.

   “Yes,” Knock Out panted between the tightness around his spark and the little thrill Breakdown’s finger sent as it retreated from his axel. “They, the Decepticon’s, have very strict rules against… this sort of thing.”

   Breakdown frowned thoughtfully and Knock Out marveled that the truck was taking it all exceptionally well until Breakdown smiled. “Then they don’t have to know. I’ve never been on a ship that didn’t have some dark corners.”

   “No,” Knock Out groaned as those fingers returned to his axel. “No dark corners, no locked rooms. Breakdown, we can’t.”

   “But why?” Breakdown demanded, only now genuinely distressed.

   “Because… because they’ll use it against us. Decepticon's are all about power. If they find out what you mean to me-“ Knock Out cut himself off. That was too much. Too painfully close to truth. Starscream might see Knock Out’s enlistment as an extra personal perk but the red mech held no illusions that he was an irreplaceable asset and Breakdown would only be safe for as long as Starscream was happy. Knock Out knew from experience that the seeker could be dangerously jealous, even when he’d deigned to share Knock Out within his own trine. If Knock Out and Breakdown were going to survive as Decepticons, Starscream should never know how involved they were. “We'll be new and they'll be looking for any weaknesses. Breakdown, our luck is thin at best. Just believe me when I say we have to stop this completely.”

   “No.”

   Knock Out shot up on Breakdown’s chest as panic gripped him. “Breakdown!”

   “No,” the blue mech repeated stubbornly and shook his helm. “We’re not stopping, we’re just putting it on hold.”

   A little of the tension left Knock Out’s frame but this was already a dangerous game they were playing. There was so much more he couldn’t tell Breakdown; an exclusive contract, the monitoring of his frame, Starscream’s tendency to possess things for the sheer power of it. “I’m serious, Breakdown. Not a touch, even platonic. No meaningful looks. Nothing. We'll be like strangers to each other.”

   “And I’m serious too.”

   Primus, Knock Out would dream of those gold optics boring into him when he couldn't have the real thing.

   “It's different, dangerous. I get that. I’ll pretend I don’t even know you if that’s what you want,” Breakdown nodded in agreement, “But you can bet the second we’re clear of this, everyone’s gonna know you belong to me.”

   A thrill ran up Knock Out’s back. If any mech could really own him- and own him in a sense that he not only wanted, but could willingly drown in- that mech would be Breakdown. Breakdown had envisioned a future where their impending enlistment was only temporary. Breakdown already planned for a future where it was once again the two of them doing as they pleased when and where. That future, however dim and distant, would be Knock Out's lifeline.

   “Then I’ll look forward to that,” Knock Out promised.

  

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me as I chip away at this. I'm currently searching for a means of income and writing TF fanfiction is, sadly, not going to pay my bills. :( We'll see how much time I'll be allowed to frolic in headcannon.  
> *OC cameo alert* I needed a Decepticon CMO so we have Lacer. (shortened from 'laceration' if you're wondering.)  
> Also, Vehicons/Eradicons. There seems to be some confusion on the wikis but according to my Prime art book, Vehicons are the ground troops and Eradicons are the fliers. There's also apparently a civilian class that are just miners, not warriors but I swear the writers only did that so Ratchet could essentially torture one and seem extra crazy in the episode where he's hopped up in synthetic energon. So even as exploratory and world-buildy as this fic is, let's agree that Decepticon 'civilian' miners are just not even a thing. Kay? Cool.  
> I also like to think that the troopers are made from the sparks of the dying. If a Decepticon's on his death bed, they just take the spark, splice it into a bunch of little pieces, and stick it in a bunch of generic frames. One dead Decepticon equals a bunch of new Vehicon/Eradicons. They retain a little personality but not much individuality and all their parts are interchangeable. How handy is that!? That kind of recycling will ensure large amounts of 'Cons to come. And that's the kind of stuff Knock Out's being taught, can't possibly go wrong there right?  
> They might have a legit origin (maybe from the Cybertron games) but if so, I've not seen it. Forget continuity as far as the Aligned universe. Now that all that unnecessary nerd stuff is out of the way, TORTURED ROBITS IN WUV!

   The first weeks of being Decepticons were, quite surprisingly, the easiest. But maybe not so surprising. After all, it was the series of specific circumstances that made the acclimation bearable.

   For starters, Breakdown spent the whole time in the brig.

   The moment they’d stepped aboard, he was taken into custody by a small squad of Eradicons. Naturally, it had sent Knock Out into near spark failure believing that Starscream had played them and never intended to trust a former enemy on his ship. Starscream’s personal assurance it was mere precaution did not soothe Knock Out’s concerns. But the gleam in Starscream’s optics reminded Knock Out all too well that the seeker was watching, waiting for a reaction…for ammunition. Knock Out would not provide that.

   So even though he wanted to snarl and kick or plead they stay together, Knock Out simply offered Breakdown a lazy shrug and a half smile as the blue mech was marched down the hall.

   True to his word and possessive tendencies, Starscream’s second order was for Knock Out to report straight to medical for a thoroughly invasive exam and several pieces of insurance. The new, seemingly innocuous chip implanted at the base of his helm tapped directly into his sensors and would passively record the EM field of every mech that touched his plating. Knock Out was no stranger to the concept of EM logs. It was a standard for any buymech with a handler that wanted to make sure his product wasn’t given for free. The fact that there were such devices on a Decepticon warship did not particularly surprise Knock Out. The second piece of insurance was a series of code downloaded into Knock Out’s processor that took the command lines that regulated the opening and closing of his interface array cover and neatly locked that information away from the mech himself. That control went to Starscream with a copied download of Knock Out’s original command line. It was an old system that would require Starscream to transmit via a hardline connection if he wanted under Knock Out’s plating. Knock Out was not going to point out there were a dozen more modern methods featuring remote activation. Starscream likely favored the direct control over another being anyway.

   With Breakdown beyond contact, Knock Out was left to speculate and his every moment was completely consumed with thoughts of his partner. Was he being treated as an enemy? Tortured? Was he still alive? Was he even still on the same ship? That fear pushed Knock Out through his initial service calls with Starscream and even the calls where Thundercracker and Skywarp joined. If Breakdown was still alive, it was Knock Out’s job to keep him that way. The trine appreciatively noted their new perk’s enthusiasm and never verbally questioned the reasoning.

   Just once, Knock Out cracked and asked Skywarp- in a perfect seeming offhanded manner- what had become of the mech they hadn’t seen in weeks. Skywarp had simply smirked and offered nothing. If Knock Out lavished a little extra attention on Skywarp after, it was only to ensure that the question never made it back to Starscream.

   At the end of the fourth week, Knock Out finally saw his partner again. It was only for a moment, just a glimpse caught across the mess hall full of mechs- one little flash of blue in a sea of purple and black. Breakdown’s face seemed brittle, optics muddy but he stood straight as he exchanged words with the Vehicons in line closest to him. Knock Out did not linger in the hall. He would only be tempted to make contact and that could only hurt them both in the end. Breakdown had seemed tired but relatively unharmed. It was enough to let Knock Out recharge peacefully for once.

   It wasn’t until the tenth week that life as a Decepticon became difficult.

   By the tenth week, Knock Out’s novelty was wearing off, as he knew it would. He was sure to keep plenty of tricks in reserve because he couldn’t afford to lose the trine’s interest entirely, but as his time spent in the seekers’ company leveled off from the impromptu and seemingly incessant service calls into something a bit more routine, Starscream decided Knock Out should actually be doing something aboard the ship aside from entertaining his trine.

   In the tenth week, Knock Out was unceremoniously assigned to shifts in the medical bay where even he was surprised at how easily the work came to him. The ship’s CMO, Lacer was an ancient thing with a volcanic temper that saw almost as many medical assistants as foot soldiers in the medberths. His optics were obviously failing fast behind thick magnifying panes of glass but he wasn’t so blind that he ignored Knock Out’s budding medical talents. The codger even saw it fit to promote Knock Out from simply rearranging supplies and dusting shelves to assisting with the steady flow of Eradicons and Vehicons as well as the occasional named soldier that came in and out of the medbay. The fact that the other medical staff looked at Knock Out sideways and muttered to each other about the shareware that still submitted daily EM logs was a negligible annoyance.

   It was the tenth week when Breakdown rushed into the medbay with a groaning Vehicon under each arm and another limp mech draped over his shoulder.

   It was the tenth week that life as a Decepticon became difficult.

***

   “The frag is this?” Lacer spat, the CMO never one to waste time on niceties, and waved in the direction of the frames hanging off Breakdown.

   “Energon explosion,” Breakdown panted having run the length of the ship to get to medbay. He gently eased one of the Vehicons onto the closest berth. “They’re hurt pretty bad.”

   “Are there more?” The CMO turned a charred limb for inspection as other medics took Breakdown’s last two charges.

   “No, this is it.”

   “How lucky, any more and you would have been juggling them down the hall.”

   Breakdown nodded but his face was far too serious to have understood and appreciated the old medic’s brand of humor.

   Knock Out held back, just on the outskirts of the mechs that hovered near the injured waiting to see if their assistance was needed. He hadn’t seen Breakdown since the chanced sighting six weeks ago. The former Wrecker looked remarkably better, rested and healthy if a little bit singed around the edges. Or maybe more than a little bit. Something dark dripped from Breakdown’s hand.

   “He’s hurt,” Knock Out muttered without intending to.

   Lacer’s audials were remarkably sharp compared to his optics. He heard the mutter, caught a glimpse of the dripping appendage Breakdown himself hadn’t seemed to noticed, and curled a single claw in Knock Out’s direction all in the matter of a second or two. “You! Take care of the big one.”

   Knock Out froze for just a moment and it made his nod come off a bit jerky when he finally managed it. He motioned for Breakdown to follow him, not trusting his voice. Breakdown seemed as equally caught off guard when they finally made optic contact and he shuffled somewhat reluctantly en route to the next available berth.

   With Breakdown seated on the medberth, he towered over Knock Out and the familiar sensation made Knock Out miss a vent. A very large part of the red mech loathed to touch Breakdown and break the pattern of the last ten weeks. But Knock Out reminded himself this was clinical and, Starscream’s pet or not, Lacer would still punish Knock Out for hesitating to follow orders. Wordlessly, Knock Out took Breakdown’s hand and turned it this way and that, assessing the damage.

   Breakdown winced and, after the initial pain cleared, he glanced covertly around for any nearby mechs (who were all busy with the three infinitely more injured Vehicons) and hunched closer to Knock Out so he could whisper. “I thought we weren’t supposed to touch.”

   Knock Out scowled at the undeniable hope that laced the reminder. “This is different.”

   He didn’t tell Breakdown this was the only way and the only place he _could_ touch another mech. While working in the medbay, Lacer had the foresight to turn off Knock Out’s EM logging implant. Touching dozens of mechs, for medically legitimate reasons or not, would not have pleased Starscream.

   “Breakdown, you’ve melted,” Knock Out’s face twisted in horror. The paint of the blue bot’s forearm had wrinkled and closer to the hand the shapes were off, usually hard lines had sagged and warped. Energon welled sluggishly in the roughest patches and that mess, mixed with melted cables, made up the dark gunk dripping from Breakdown’s injured hand. “What happened?”

   “The refiner in mess must have overheated and caught a bunch of energon crystals on fire. Made a pretty good explosion. Would have spread to the rest of the crystals in storage and taken out the whole hall if we hadn't walked in when we did. Had to pull Muffler out of the fire though,” Breakdown explained and indicated the worst of the Vehicons, the one Lacer himself tended to.

   “Muffler?” Knock Out mumbled as he curled each of Breakdown’s fingers to test for their viability. “Are you naming the Vehicons?”

   “Naming…I didn’t name him,” Breakdown replied haltingly, face twisted in puzzlement as Knock Out began to pry the softened panel from Breakdown’s forearm. “He told me his name was Muffler.”

   Knock Out stared bewildered at that orange face thinking it must be some kind of joke but Breakdown was completely serious. Vehicons and Eradicons were simple drones. They were mass-produced frames, a hundred of them for every bot on this ship with an actual name. A single salvaged spark was split multiple ways to power a whole squad.  Lacer had explained this Knock Out’s first day in the medbay. Apparently, no one had told Breakdown they were essentially recycled, interchangeable, disposable. “They don’t have names, Breakdown. They’re cannon fodder.”

   Breakdown stared at Knock Out like he’d said something truly horrific.

   “Breakdown, they are replaceable,” Knock Out insisted and after a good look at the melted wires and scorched servos in Breakdown’s arms, Knock Out growled, “but you are not. I don’t ever want to see you in here again because you’ve risked yourself for one of those drones.”

   The blue mech glanced to the berth where the nearest Vehicon lay. “Knock Out, he was burning. I couldn’t just let him die.”

   Knock Out cast a backward glance at the Vehicon under the CMO’s care. What was Breakdown doing aboard the ship that made him think drones were anything more than that? Knock Out caught Lacer glaring dangerously at him and the red mech snapped back to his task.

   “Forget about them for a minute.” They only had as long as it would take to repair Breakdown and, luckily or unluckily, the damage was not as horrific as it first seemed. There were much more important matters to discuss than Vehicons. “Breakdown, how have you been? They took you to brig and no one would tell me what was going on.”

   Knock Out wasn’t sure if it was the long weeks of worry bleeding into his tone or the coming answer that made Breakdown adjust uneasily on the medberth.

   “I’m fine. I promise. They just wanted to know what I knew, you know, about Autobots. About Wreckers.” The discomfort was clear in Breakdown’s tone.

   “Did you tell them?” Knock Out tensed. He didn’t want to hear his partner had withheld anything and been…further convinced.

   Breakdown finally shrugged even though he did not seem happy to confirm, “Yeah, I told them. But it didn’t do ‘em much good. My info’s more outdated than what the ‘Cons…I mean what they, already had. When they figured out I didn’t know anything, they let me out.”

   Knock Out nodded as he severed a hunk of melted wires in Breakdown’s arm. “Where are you now? What are you doing aboard?”

   “I’m part of the mining crew.”

   “Seriously?” Knock Out balked.

   There were extensive mining operations as part of the grand Decepticon plan. They mined moons, planets, asteroids; any place that could produce viable energy. Knock Out knew that much from Starscream’s idle chatter. In fact, they were planetside right now-bolstering their stores for some 'big push' Starscream kept muttering about. Mining was the only reason there were so many ground models on Starscream’s ship full of winged troops. Mining was Vehicon grunt work! Although that did explain Breakdown’s perception of the drones as actual mechs.

   “I cannot believe Starscream’s wasting you in mining operations!” Knock Out spat.

   “I do come with a built in hammer,” Breakdown shrugged.

   Knock Out did not find that particularly amusing. Starscream had apparently judged Breakdown no more useful than a drone. The less valuable he was perceived, the more danger Breakdown would be in. Knock Out had to find a way to fix that.

   “And, hey,” Breakdown whispered affectionately, oblivious to Knock Out’s fear “look at you! You’re a medic. That’s not so bad at all.”

   Knock Out bent a little closer to Breakdown’s wrist joint. The move hid his grimace. Yes…medic. It certainly sounded a lot better than ‘Starscream’s pet’ or 'seeker frag-toy.'

   “I’m proud of you.”

   The red mech’s face contorted again and he rose to meet Breakdown’s optics, to tell him ‘No. Don’t be. Really.’ But then Breakdown’s good hand was on Knock Out’s face, caressing a white cheek with a large thumb. Knock Out was caught, spellbound...horrified.

   The moment Knock Out finally jerked away from the intimate touch, the ship-wide alarm blared overhead and washed the medbay in red light. For an irrational moment, Knock Out thought that it was his fault; that even with his implant turned off, he'd been caught. But when three large explosions rocked the ship, Knock Out guessed the situation might somehow be worse than that.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

     “What was that?” Breakdown jerked on the berth, possibly as startled as Knock Out, but grabbed the smaller mech instinctively when the ship shuddered in the wake of the first three blasts.

   Lacer blew a shrilly whistling vent and held up an oversized claw that, even in the middle of a blaring siren and emergency lighting, caught the attention of every bot in the medbay. His ancient voice boomed over the obnoxious alarms. “Message direct from Commander Starscream; three more energon explosions in the rear of the ship. That means I want this medbay fully prepped for burns and inhalation stat! And somebody override this damn, red lighting!”

   Decepticon medics scrambled to follow their CMO’s orders. The siren continued to wail but by the time the emergency lights returned to normal, Knock Out had shrugged out of Breakdown’s protective hold and roughly forced the blue bot back on the berth. “Sit! If I don’t finish before casualties come in, you might not leave with two functioning hands.”

   Breakdown knew that as part of the mining team, he should be a first responder to the disaster in the rear of the ship but with the force of Knock Out’s grip and the injury from the earlier refiner malfunction… “Lacer!”

   It was hard to say whether Knock Out or the old CMO himself was more surprised by Breakdown’s outburst. Breakdown twisted around Knock Out and sprinted for the older bot who was trying to finish off the most vital of Muffler’s repairs. “The three explosions, were they all energon refiners?”

   Lacer scowled and largely ignored Breakdown in favor of tying off a leaking hose in the prone vehicon between them. “I know as much as you know at this point. Sit your aft back down.”

   Knock Out, naturally not far behind, tugged insistently at Breakdown’s arm in an attempt to relocate him to the medberth and away from the CMO’s quickly diminishing patience but Breakdown held fast.

   “It has to be the refiners,” Breakdown pressed on urgently. “They’re each kept in their own room with controlled amounts of energon. If it was the store room that blew, there wouldn’t be anything left of us.”

   “Then maybe the miners failed to detect a dangerous flaw in their last haul and it caused the refiners to malfunction,” the large jet snapped in Breakdown’s face knowing full well the blue mech’s job.

   Breakdown stood firm even as his voice rose urgently, “So bad energon reaches three different refiners at the same time and they all go up at once? Not to mention the blast that brought me here! This isn’t right. They can’t all just malfunction!”

   “You’d best say whatever you intend to say and quickly,” Lacer cut in with a dangerous growl and pulled his claws from the vehicon in front of him in preparation for the firm blow that it would apparently take to get Breakdown back on a berth.

   “This is sabotage!” Breakdown blurted out over Knock Out’s head as the smaller bot put himself between Breakdown and the impending strike. “Tell Starscream there are Wreckers on this ship!”

   Knock Out tensed at the same time Lacer’s claws lowered fractionally.

   “You’re certain?” The CMO wasn’t sending the ship into a panic without a good measure of certainty.

   “This is a classic Wrecker play!” Breakdown insisted. “Those blasts are in the ship’s aft. What’s in the fore?”

   “Any number of things. The command deck, the engines-“

   “Engines! Tell Starscream he needs troops in the engine room now!”

   Before the CMO could either agree or protest, Breakdown tore out of the medbay toward the front of the ship.

   “Breakdown!” Knock Out was powerless to stop the bruiser from charging off. As powerless as he was to stop himself from following.

   Despite Breakdown’s larger gait, Knock Out caught up in no time.

   “Breakdown, are you insane? You’re injured!”

   “This has Wheeljack’s stink all over it! Those refiners are the distraction to draw us in the wrong direction. If Wreckers get to the engine, they’ll cripple the ship.”

   “Why?” Knock Out demanded as they squeezed past a group of vehicons running in the opposite direction. “Why cripple us when they could have blown the ship?”

   “Maybe they need something onboard intact.”

   The transformation of Breakdown’s hammer mixed with the sound of their slamming pedes and Knock Out pulled out the compacted staff tucked in his thigh despite what logic told him. “You want us to take on the Wreckers? This is a terrible idea, Breakdown! Let Starscream send troops.”

   “They might be too late. And if there are Wreckers, they’re my problem.”

   “So you’re going to fight them with parts spilling out of your arm?”

   Knock Out’s accusing tone seemed to remind Breakdown’s body that he was, in fact, injured and that it did, in fact, hurt. But he’d fought with worse and would do whatever it took to get his former comrades off the ship. The blue mech didn’t stop running. “Go back to the medbay Knock Out. Wrecker’s aren’t like the thugs we used to deal with. These mechs are good at breaking bots.”

   “Then aren’t you glad you taught me how to back you up?”

   “I don’t want you in danger.”

   Knock Out managed to scoff as he ran. “I only just found you again. If I’m in danger, then at least I know I’m right next to you!”

   Breakdown found that almost romantic. He kept the observation to himself.

   Even without internal maps of the ship, the duo would have found the engine room by following the lifeless vehicon frames dotting the hall and the double doors stuck halfway apart, surfaces heavily dented. Breakdown and Knock Out took up cover on each side of the entrance to scope the room. Starscream’s ship was a dual engine variant of a classic Decepticon destroyer, designed to travel farther faster and deploy aerial troops in a third of the time the fastest Autobot ship could respond. The engine’s dual cores jutted up, black pillars that stretched floor to ceiling with a clear section mid-pillar to allow observation of the fluxing mini nebulas within. The cores pulsed a soft violet light over the circular room and the two mechs already inside, one stationed at each of the cores’ control panels. The room was large and the figures too far for Breakdown to make them out clearly. Of course, if they took the Wreckers by surprise, one good cannon blast and the mechs wouldn’t look like much of anything anyway.

   Breakdown brought his shoulder cannon online. Knock Out flicked his staff outward to lock it in its fully extended form and barred the doorway.

   “Don’t fire in there,” Knock Out warned the larger mech in a stern whisper. “Those cores are fragile. If you miss and blow the shielding, the backlash alone might kill us.”

   With a grave nod, Breakdown tucked away the cannon. “Close range then. Stay behind me if you can.”

   Knock Out inclined his head and offered Breakdown the door. “After you.”

   Breakdown squeezed through the cracked door with Knock Out right behind. He’d intended to rush the two intruders and use the advantage of surprise but only a few loping strides into the room, Breakdown thought of the dozens of good mechs he’d met while a Wrecker and his steps faltered. Knock Out’s field flickered behind him in confusion and Breakdown cursed.

   _It’s them or us_. Breakdown reminded himself. But even so…

   “I’m giving you one chance to step away!” Breakdown’s challenge caught the attention of the two Wreckers. They each turned from their respective cores and Breakdown snarled in instant recognition now that he could make out their faces. “Of all the possible mechs, _you_ are the last one who should be here right now!”

   Bulkhead snorted across the way. “I must just be this lucky. Primus knows the one thing I wanted was to meet you on a Decepticon ship.”

   “Bulk, you weren’t kidding,” the second Wrecker piped up in a voice that gargled and cracked behind his facemask like it was forced through a pool of liquid. Bright yellow optics pulsed below sharp helm ridges in a near unreadable shift of emotions as he surveyed Breakdown. “He really is alive.”

   “However long that might last,” Bulkhead spat to his fellow Wrecker before turning back to the blue bot across the way. “Gotta admit Breakdown, I’m pretty disappointed to see you going full ‘Con.”

   “Oh, really?” Knock Out ducked out from behind Breakdown, unable to contain himself, and snapped at the green mech. “Would you care to guess which Wrecker piece of slag made that decision for us?”

   The flat of Breakdown’s hammer on his chest was the only thing that kept Knock Out from striking out physically.

   “That him?” Bulkhead gestured at Knock Out even though his sneer was directed at Breakdown. “That your ‘Con? Doesn't look like a jet. You get a new one already?”

   Breakdown replaced himself firmly between Bulkhead and Knock Out with a single pointed step and brought his hammer a little higher. “This is your last chance to get off this ship.”

   “Naw, same face. Same eyes,” Bulkhead muttered as he completely ignored Breakdown’s warning. “He might have traded his wings for wheels but that doesn’t mean he’s changed. He’s always gonna be a ‘Con, Breakdown.”

   “Who’s that?” The teal and gold Wrecker at Bulkhead’s side glared as if he could see through Breakdown’s plating to examine the red frame it shielded.

   Bulkhead turned to the second Wrecker and tossed a hand in Knock Out’s direction in a twisted sort of introduction. “Seaspray, that is the pretty, little face that turned Breakdown and killed the twins.”

   Seaspray shifted low, his intake vibrated with a growl crossed with a gasping wheeze, and the teal and gold of his left arm transformed into a wickedly sharp harpoon. “Then you finish up the mission, Bulk, while I see if that face is as fragile as it looks.”

   Before the Wrecker had even finished his dark order, Breakdown moved to avoid the first harpoon’s launch. He took a hard half step back, swung his injured arm to keep Knock Out firmly behind him, and angled his torso to present his hammer and armored shoulder to Seaspray. Even though he knew the blow was coming, Breakdown was no match for the sheer speed of the projectile. Seaspray’s harpoon scraped across Breakdown’s chest and tore a chunk of plating with it before he was even fully in a proper guard. Not a killing blow but enough to hurt like a blazing pit! Breakdown grunted but recovered in time to return his hammer to root mode and grab the harpoon’s chain before Seaspray could recall it for another shot. The blue mech half expected Bulkhead to charge in the wake of Seaspray’s blow but the green warrior instead returned to the ship’s double cores to fiddle with a conspicuous wired device mounted on the controls.

   Breakdown struggled to maintain his hold on the chain as the much larger Seaspray began to reel his weapon back in. He tried to add his left hand to the effort but the burned appendage refused to respond below the elbow. He had no choice but to dig in his pedes and send in his partner. “They’re going to blow the core. Knock Out, stop Bulkhead!”

   “With pleasure,” Knock Out promised.

   The red mech didn’t hesitate to follow Breakdown’s lead in a fight, a habit Breakdown was grateful to see all their training during their roughest racing days had left ingrained in Knock Out. Though Knock Out’s disgust for Bulkhead probably had a considerable amount to do with the red mech’s enthusiastic compliance. Knock Out made a beeline for Bulkhead but that meant rushing straight past Seaspray.

   “Watch the right arm!” Breakdown warned but Knock Out was going too fast.

   Seaspray’s right arm rippled in a quick transformation from hand to cutlass and, in a single step, Knock Out was well within deadly range. Breakdown yanked hard on the chain connecting him to Seaspray. Despite being several heads shorter and a few tons lighter than the aquatic Wrecker, Breakdown’s move carried just enough force to off-balance Seaspray and send his sudden cutlass slash sailing over Knock Out’s helm. Knock Out’s staff blurred as it whipped around to crack the back of Seaspray’s knee and force the Wrecker to stagger. Another blow found the vulnerable spot right where the multiple tubes emanating from Seaspray’s mask connected to the back of his helm. By the time Seaspray recovered enough to whip around and retaliate, Knock Out was well out of sword range on his way to Bulkhead.

   Breakdown knew that Seaspray was no pushover, one of the toughest Wreckers to ever serve. Which meant Breakdown couldn’t afford to give the bigger mech any time to recover. Using the opening his partner had so fantastically provided, Breakdown rushed the downed mech and brought his hammer down in a brutal blow to the Wrecker’s back. The gurgling cry of pain wasn’t a noise Breakdown was used to causing in his former ally but nobody took a swipe at Knock Out and got away with it.

   Seaspray’s shout caught Bulkhead’s attention and he turned from the engine to take stock of the battle just in time to see Knock Out’s staff swinging for his head. Bulkhead managed to throw up a thick forearm and the staff jerked painfully in Knock Out’s hands when it met the unyielding wall of metal. Bulkhead pushed back, easily overpowered Knock Out’s stance, and swung a mace at the small bot’s unprotected midsection. A jerky sidestep was the only evasion Knock Out could muster but it was enough to let the blow glance off his hip instead of crumpling him in half. Still, at that range and with Bulkhead’s power, even the glancing blow sent Knock Out spinning to the ground and his weapon flew out of hands that still tingled.

   Breakdown’s spark clenched when he saw Knock Out hit the floor. His partner was fast but Bulkhead was solid and far more experienced, especially in a close quarters match. The blue bot made a move for his downed partner and snatched up Knock Out’s rolling staff along the way. He felt lightyears away from the rescue when something wrapped around his ankle and he suddenly found himself horizontal. Breakdown’s face sparked when it met the floor. He kicked the bound leg and was forced to roll over when the situation didn’t improve. Seaspray was back on his feet and he dragged Breakdown closer with firm tugs of the chain and harpoon wrapped around blue plating. Breakdown snarled. If he wasn’t careful, that harpoon might wind up through his plating next time. Breakdown might have to put Seaspray down for good before he could assist Knock Out. In the distance, Knock Out was rising again even if it did seem a struggle. “Knock Out! Here!”

   Breakdown chucked the staff like a javelin and waited just long enough to see Knock Out reach for it before the former Wrecker turned back to his battle.

* 

   Knock Out snatched the weapon mid-air and brought it around to attack as Bulkhead bore down on him. The staff slipped right between Bulkhead’s guard and rapped smartly against the Wrecker’s helm. When he flinched, two more blows made their way to Bulkhead’s helm. Green arms instinctively rose to shield Bulkhead’s face at the same time Knock Out slipped his staff between the Wrecker’s legs and braced it against the back of an oversized knee. A sharp tug of the staff and a firm shoulder tackle at the same time allowed Knock Out to floor the green mech twice his mass. The grill of Bulkhead’s pelvic plating made a convenient location for Knock Out to dig his staff in deep and vault over to the nearest core. The Wrecker’s grunt of pain was an added bonus.

   The device was obviously hastily constructed with what were likely scavenged supplies based on the mismatched plates and wires spewing from the thing. It was literally jammed into the engines’ console via a twisted spear of metal on its underside for crying out loud! But shoddy looking or not, Knock Out had no idea how to dismantle a Wrecker bomb.

   “The frag am I supposed to do with this? It’s driven into the console,” Knock Out shouted.

   “Pull it out!” Breakdown called as he ducked under a cutlass slash.

   Simple enough. Knock Out tucked his staff under his arm and grasped both sides of the device. Everything was a white blur until he could register the pure agony of a seemingly impossible surge of energy slamming through his body. Luckily, it tripped all Knock Out’s motor controls and his hands flexed open just long enough for him to release the bomb and stagger away.

   “I think it has a failsafe,” Knock Out tried to say but it came out as static and a charge that danced from his teeth and scorched his lips. His voicebox tripped in several failed reboots. Probably why he hadn’t even screamed. His optics swam and he stumbled.

   Then Bulkhead blindside him with a tackle. When they hit the ground, Knock Out’s back axle snapped and this time he did scream, a horrible thing that caught in the back of his throat. Caught beneath several tons of enraged Wrecker, Knock Out struggled to retaliate. His legs were trapped beneath Bulkhead’s and his arms were held firmly against his sides.

   “You took him from us,” Bulkhead snapped into Knock Out’s face as his grip on red arms went from firm to intentionally crushing.

   “He chose me,” Knock Out countered automatically. Medically, Knock Out knew the most vulnerable parts of a mech. He only had to get to them. In the meantime, he had no trouble addressing Bulkhead’s utterly ignorant rage. “You only made his choice easier.”

   The Wrecker’s oversized fingers slipped under Knock Out’s chin and wrapped harshly around his neck. “You’re going to be the reason he dies.”

   That statement, which sounded suspiciously like a promise, set the red mech off more than the imminent danger of his own offline. Knock Out’s saw whirred to life. It tore indiscriminately through the floor below him and into the green plating above him. Bulkhead gasped in obvious shock and reared back from the rotating blade. Knock Out followed up with a strike to the newly exposed weakpoint where Bulkhead’s arm met his torso. The saw sank in deep, it shred fuel and coolant lines and buzzed against the very joint.

   A massive fist collided with Knock Out’s helm and the saw jerked into the sturdier metal of the Wrecker's arm. The fist returned, Bulkhead didn't even take the time to transform into his favored mace, and drove Knock Out’s helm into the ground. Another blow and something in Knock Out’s face cracked, something else shattered. He heard Bulkhead’s labored venting, his pained and furious growls peppered the continued whine of Knock Out’s saw as it tore through plating, but Knock Out could no longer see. He pushed forward blindly, determined to do as much damage as possible before a final blow sent him into oblivion.

*

   “This was a slagging stupid idea, now wasn’t it?” Seaspray’s gurgling voice panted directly into Breakdown’s audial from behind. “You know it would take at least two good arms to put me down and you couldn’t even bring one?”

   They swayed with Breakdown’s back to Seaspray’s chest, Seaspray’s arm wrapped tightly around Breakdown’s waist in what would have looked like a hug until the nautical Wrecker squeezed Breakdown’s injured arm again. The blue bot growled in pain and it rumbled through his good limb caught high against his own jaw, held in place by the chain that managed to encircle both hammer and throat.

   “All that time running from the war make you soft?”

   Breakdown jerked against the chain and struggled just to get his pedes back on the floor but, each time he shifted, Seaspray would stand a little straighter hauling Breakdown up against his much larger teal and gold frame. Worse than the lack of opportunity to strike back, they had turned from Knock Out and Bulkhead some time ago and Breakdown had no idea how his partner was fairing. He’d heard Knock Out’s scream just before the chain found its way around his throat.

   “Breakdown, we both know you’re not in good Wrecker standing right now but we could still work it out. We’re all hurting and there’s only so many of us. Help us finish here and I’ll make sure you fall back under Magnus’ command.”

   “And Knock Out?” Breakdown automatically choked out when Seaspray allowed him to touch the floor for just a moment.

   “Seaspray.” Bulkhead’s almost hollow call took the place of Seaspray’s decision.

   As Seaspray turned, so was Breakdown forced to follow. Even with the animosity and sense of betrayal already setting in between them, Breakdown could not help the stutter of his spark when he took in Bulkhead’s state. The green Wrecker didn’t make it two steps before he fell to his knees with the thunder of metal on metal. Energon oozed from his chest, his neck, his arms, and it positively gushed between the fingers clamped against the pit of his arm.

   “Bulkhead?” Seaspray mumbled in shock and his grip slackened around Breakdown’s waist. But the entangled mechs must have noticed Knock Out at the same time, the still frame on the floor, the unmoving saw and the wet glitter of freshly spilled energon all around, because Seaspray’s grip turned savage again the same moment Breakdown called for his downed partner.

   White hot pain lanced through Breakdown’s right side and he collapsed the moment Seaspray unwound the chain from his throat. He didn’t realize the pain was a result of Seaspray’s cutlass hurriedly piercing his plating until the nautical Wrecker already knelt in front of the gravely injured Bulkhead. Breakdown clamped his good hand over his side to stem the flow of energon and swallowed the pain as he rose to his knees. He brought his shoulder cannon online and put the Wreckers dead center in his sights. At this range, he wasn’t going to miss. Once they were dead, Breakdown could finally go to Knock Out.

   Before he could fire, something came down hard on Breakdown’s cannon and it exploded with enough force to knock the blue mech’s audials offline and snap his helm into his opposite shoulder guard. He scrambled to turn, furious, to face his new attacker. The last thing Breakdown saw was the pommel of Wheeljack’s sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G-1 fans might look at Seaspray sideways here but, apparently, TF Prime had plans to make him a badass Wrecker. Who woulda thought?


	22. Chapter 22

_Breakdown fell to his knees, energon cascading down his side plating, as Seaspray ran to assist Bulkhead. Breakdown had them in his sights. Wheeljack burst in at the last moment. His sword sliced through Breakdown’s shoulder cannon and sank deep into the plating beneath. Breakdown turned to meet his attacker, Wheeljack struck him in the face. Breakdown crumpled._

Breakdown vented slowly. The quality of the surveillance recording was fuzzy but good enough for him to make out the puddle of energon that was accumulating under his body. He looked like death in the recording. He felt like death now. The fine fracture running between his optics still throbbed. His side and shoulder had been patched with oversized slabs screwed into the surrounding armor but the wounds ached beneath. His burned arm remained untreated but was at least wrapped securely in a dust repellent mesh. Judging by the progress of his self-repair, he’d only been out for a short while before he woke in this room with a mech he didn’t know blocking the exit and the datapad that currently played in his hand.

_Wheeljack raised his blade above Breakdown, double fisted, prepared for a powerful plunge into Breakdown’s spark. Seaspray caught the swordsmech’s attention. Wheeljack hesitated, turned to the largest mech in the room, then returned to Breakdown’s body. Seaspray gathered Bulkhead into his arms, struggled to keep Bulkhead’s hand staunching the most critical energon lines, and took two steps toward the exit. Wheeljack’s helm jerked back and forth as if having a hard time making a decision between Breakdown and Seaspray._

   With no audio and no lips to read, Breakdown could only assume Seaspray had called an immediate retreat for the sake of Bulkhead’s survival and that Wheeljack was determined to finish the enemy first, to kill Breakdown. Breakdown glanced to the room’s other real time occupant. The mech was large, powerful, built for combat. His deep blue plating looked thick and he stood near the room’s only door with a sense of authority, and an unspoken promise that Breakdown wouldn’t be leaving without the other mech’s permission. His chest bore a Decepticon emblem so Breakdown at least knew which faction held him. Breakdown felt he should probably know the mech's name, only because he seemed to command respect, not because Breakdown had ever actually seen the mech. But the other had remained nearly silent from the beginning, only periodically reiterating his initial command to ‘watch the footage.’

    _Wheeljack crowded into Seaspray’s personal space, gestured animatedly at Breakdown. Seaspray shook his head emphatically ‘no.’ The swordsmech turned his back on Seaspray, marched across the room, passed Breakdown, and headed straight for the very edge of the surveillance camera’s field...where Knock Out lay still._

Breakdown tensed and turned to the other mech in the room. He had not seen Knock Out since onlining again and a cold fear eclipsed the lingering pain. “Where is he?”

   The other uttered a single word. “Watch.”

_Wheeljack grabbed Knock Out by the helm, jerked the slack face in Seaspray’s direction, placed his sword at the unresisting mech’s throat._

Breakdown surged to his feet, datapad held tight, optics glued to the screen.

_At the opposite end of the room, a new mech shouldered aside the broken doors of the engine room with a squad of eradicons in tow. The Wreckers froze, Wheeljack released Knock Out to crash back against the ground, the three Autobots regrouped in the middle of the room far from Knock Out or Breakdown. What followed was a brief standoff until Wheeljack made a grand gesture with something held tightly in his left hand. Then the room was a mess of smoke and fire and dark shapes darting around._

   That was all the footage offered. The screen in Breakdown’s good hand blacked out and the blue mech forgot how to vent. His rising panic forced a simple question into something almost threatening. “What happened?”

   The other mech held out a single hand in warning when Breakdown came too close and bright red optics narrowed dangerously. The sharp panels that protruded from behind the larger mech, most likely signs of an aerial alt, caught Breakdown’s optic and he powered up the video again.

   “You were there weren’t you?” Breakdown flicked frantically through the video until the mysterious arrival of reinforcements at the end and braced the device against his bandaged arm so that he could turn the screen to the other mech and point insistently at the blurred image of a deep blue mech with gold-tipped wings. “That’s you leading the eradicons, right? Where’s the little, red mech? Tell me what happened to him!

   “Stand down, soldier!”

   It had been a long time since anyone had called Breakdown a soldier, even longer since he’d followed a command like that. Physically weakened and anxious, Breakdown flinched from the barked order as if it was the first time he’d ever heard one and took a pointed step away from the other mech but that didn’t mean he could control the concern twisting his field and face.

   Finally, the oversized flyer seemed to take pity. “He is alive. But you will remain here until you’re cleared of this whole Wrecker incident, so I advise you to be seated immediately and to cease making demands.”

   Breakdown sat begrudgingly. Knock Out was alive. That was good enough.

   The larger mech remained standing and offered no further assurances before launching his first question. “How did you know there were Wreckers aboard?”

   “Because I was one. I know how they work.” If Breakdown was going to be subjected to an interrogation like his first aboard the ship, he might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.

   The flyer nodded. “This was recorded when you enlisted. Why were they here? What did they hope to accomplish?”

   “I don’t know,” Breakdown winced as he felt around the quick patch job on his side and brought his fingers back tinted with energon, the consequence of being so brash after a grievous injury. “This kind of distraction is usually how they raid for supplies. But if they didn’t take anything and they tried to blow the engine, I guess it was something else.”

   “Only they had no intentions of destroying the engine. The Wrecker's retreated in a hurry and left two devices behind. But after examining them, we've determined they were transmitters, not bombs. They harnessed the energy of our engines to broadcast an amplified distress signal.”

   Here, Breakdown couldn’t help but frown. “You sure it wasn't a bomb? Wreckers aren’t usually big on distress signals.”

   “I know my fair share about explosive devices. And I thought of the Wreckers just as you did.” That shiny gold faceplate cracked a little, not a smile but not a frown as hard as the mech’s default expression. “So tell me why they’ve risked an invasion of our ship and sent one now.”

   After a moment of contemplation, Breakdown gingerly shrugged.

   “Please.” The flyer softened and Breakdown was unsure if that was some kind of interrogation tactic or genuine plea. Either seemed strange coming from a Decepticon. “You were one of them. Give it your best guess and I’ll take you to see him.”

   Knock Out’s name never passed between them, but the mech in question was obvious.

   Breakdown nodded and tried to think like Ultra Magnus or Wheeljack might think. “They have to be desperate. But they were just on the Ammonite planet. Same time as us. And a Wrecker ship is a lot smaller than Starscream’s. Maybe they didn’t have much to offer the Ammonites to begin with. Maybe they’re running on empty. But if that’s the case, they would have just raided us for supplies. Real quick, hit and run. Besides, most Wreckers would die before asking for an extraction, especially with the added risk of breaking into a Decepticon ship to send for help.”

   “Then why?”

   “...they must have something. Something big. Something that will change the war if it makes it into Autobot hands.”

   “What kind of ‘something?”

   Breakdown racked his processor but he had nothing so he simply shrugged his good shoulder. A heavy silence filled the room and made the claustrophobic space that much more unbearable. The seeker with the red optics and golden face was the first to break the doom-laden silence.

   “Starscream ordered me here to ensure you were not somehow a part of this attack. I’m convinced you were not. You have been extremely cooperative and your battle with the Wreckers appeared far too fierce to have been staged.” The mech paused as if uncertain if he should voice his next observation but pushed a startling bit of warmth through his field and continued. “Even more telling is your concern for the red mech. Given your reactions, your brother-in-arms is greatly valued. It is obvious you would not allow him to be harmed if it were within your power and the extent of his injuries are too great to be considered an attempt at covering your tracks as a Wrecker accomplice.”

   “How bad is he hurt?”

   The larger mech almost smiled, maybe because his observations had been further confirmed by Breakdown’s tone of voice. “Come. Let us see him, as promised.”

   The flaring pain of his wounds told Breakdown he’d probably stood too quickly but he beat the discomfort down and nodded to the Decepticon seeker.

   “First, one more thing.”

   Breakdown tensed for what might be a new wave of inquisition or worse but was surprised when a large hand was offered to him instead.

   “You may call me Dreadwing.”

   The smaller blue bot shook the offered hand, now recognizing the gesture for what it was. And even though Dreadwing undoubtedly knew Breakdown’s designation and everything else about him, it felt only right to return the unexpected show of respect.

   “Breakdown. Now, about Knock Out…”

***

   It was a short trip. Breakdown’s impromptu holding/interrogation room turned out just to be an isolated medical suite for infectious patients and, apparently, horribly injured potential saboteurs. Dreadwing brought them to a stop only three doors down a narrow hall. A guard was stationed at the reinforced door of the only entrance, but Dreadwing didn’t command the trooper to stand aside. The seeker instead gestured Breakdown just a few steps further to a large observation window beside the door, long enough to stretch the space of a room three times larger than the one that had held Breakdown. An assortment of machines and two scurrying mechs populating the space behind the obviously thick pane. An operating room, Breakdown only realized when he spotted a mech stretched out on a berth.

   It took him even longer to recognize the prone mech as Knock Out. The red finish was mottled with dried energon that created a grotesque multi-colored shimmer. Shapely leg struts were crushed, no doubt to the point of cutting off energon lines given their almost gray tint. A broken axle lay discarded on a nearby table. But the most disconcerting sight was Knock Out’s faceplate sitting beside the snapped axel, the once white finish scuffed and misshaped by heavy blows.

   One of the mechs stood at Knock Out’s helm. He carefully plucked a shard of blue optic from the mech’s exposed face and tossed it onto a nearby tray to join several other discarded pieces.

   Breakdown responded with a startled shudder when a large hand landed on his shoulder in an almost awkward assurance.

   “I wasn’t sure he was still functional when we found him but Lacer insists he will recover.” Dreadwing’s rumbling voice might have been a comfort in a different situation but it didn’t do a thing for Breakdown as he watched a medic slowly pop out one of the horrifically caved-in portions of Knock Out’s helm. “You would have felt his loss profoundly, no doubt.”

   Breakdown ground his dental plates together but had no appropriate response. ‘Brothers-in-arms’ Dreadwing had assumed of Breakdown and Knock Out. It didn’t even scratch the surface of their relationship but that wasn’t information for Breakdown to divulge so he remained silent as Dreadwing continued.

   “My spark twin is stationed elsewhere, solar systems away, but I would know the moment he perished.” Dreadwing tapped his chest to illustrate the sparkbound that kept him aware of his twin. “It is fortunate you and I can only imagine the loss that Starscream and Skywarp now suffer.”

   Breakdown managed to tear his optics away from Knock Out long enough to fix Dreadwing with a confused stare.

   “Thundercracker has been terminated,” Dreadwing explained and seemed as disappointed as he was angry at the truth of it. “He was investigating the refinery when the Wrecker Wheeljack appeared. He managed to sound the alarm but he was ultimately unsuccessful in his battle with the Autobot. The loss of a trine member is as devastating to a seeker as any other broken bond. Starscream has ordered my pursuit of the Wreckers in order to bring vengeance for Thundercracker. You fought them valiantly at our ship’s core and, given your own near loss, you can surely see the importance of eliminating the Wreckers from this system. I intend to request that you join my unit as a soldier on this mission. I am confident you will accept. For your own sake and for his.”

   “Yeah,” Breakdown muttered, optics sweeping over Knock Out’s battered frame one last time. He'd been stupid to bring his partner into a fight like that. Knock Out had obviously paid for it. Bulkhead, Seaspray, Wheeljack; they wouldn't get another chance to hurt Knock Out. “Yeah, I wouldn't mind breaking a few Wreckers.”

  


	23. Chapter 23

   “Pit-bound fool!”

   Knock Out would not have been surprised if a vicious backhanded strike had accompanied Lacer’s growling outburst. The fact that no blow came was a testament to how broken the red mech still was. The ship’s CMO wasn’t about to destroy long hours of reconstructive surgery to make a point when he could cut Knock Out down just as quickly with a verbal assault.

   “I did not give you permission to leave your post and look at the state you’re in now! You’re lucky to be here instead of some scrap heap.”

   Knock Out let his newly installed optics drift closed. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt like he’d been beaten to within an inch of death, and Lacer had repeatedly assured him that was true. Even sitting up on his recovery berth in an isolated medical suite to face Lacer’s wrath was physically taxing.

   “Look at me!” Lacer’s ancient claws snagged Knock Out’s freshly reattached faceplate and dug in painfully until new optics opened again. “The Decepticon army is full of big, brave idiots who can throw themselves into battle. You are not one of them.”

   The CMO was upset in a way that Knock Out had, until now, never had the displeasure of witnessing. His words came out low and tight, coiled and dangerous in a way his usual shouted obscenities and blatant physical strikes were not. The medic’s one-handed grip on Knock Out’s face was not quite so controlled and Knock Out winced as the fluctuating pressure built up a truly spectacular processor ache.

   “Do you understand that you are here because of me? I need competent medics more than the Decepticons need one more brave idiot." Lacer tightened his grip anytime Knock Out's optics even inched downward. "If you want to survive, there are two things you’d better learn to do. First, learn to pick your fights. You’re not unintelligent. If you’d put any thought toward the situation, you could have saved yourself the injuries and saved me the nuisance of dragging you back from the brink of death after such a moronic stunt! I won’t be doing it again, in case you’re wondering.”

   The words might have sounded harsh but, given a comparative history of physical discipline, the CMO’s warning could be seen as practically coddling Knock Out.

   “Now explain yourself. Were you thinking at all? Why did you follow the blue miner?”

   To say it was habit would be a poor choice on Knock Out’s part. Even worse to say he followed out of concern.

   “He was injured,” Knock Out supplied via a crackling voice box. It had yet to recover from the crushing force of a certain Wrecker's hand. “I hadn’t finished his repairs.”

   Lacer snorted and withdrew his claws from Knock Out’s facial plating with a tiny push of disgust. “Which brings me to your second lesson. If you want to stay on this ship, you’d better learn to lie far more convincingly than that.”

   Knock Out opened his mouth to protest but found himself at a loss. Creating falsehoods was typically one of Knock Out’s strengths but Lacer either remained unconvinced by the weak attempt or he was digging for something. Maybe a partial truth was in order to throw the older mech off whatever suspicions he might have developed. “We travelled together. I trusted he knew what he was talking about.”

   “I’m not blind quite yet,” the old medic sneered as if insulted. “It was painfully obvious the moment you saw each other.”

   To ask would only invite Lacer to voice his suspicions so Knock Out chose to clench his jaw rather than ask _what_ was painfully obvious the moment Knock Out and Breakdown reunited in the medbay.

   “You’re not mere travel companions,” Lacer prodded.

   The unease in Knock Out’s tanks twisted into a snarling rage and snapped his control as easily as Bulkhead had snapped his rear axle. “What does it matter? Whatever we were, we aren’t anymore! Alright?”

   “You have an arrangement with Commander Starscream,” Lacer stated matter-of-factly.

   “I know that,” Knock Out vented heavily, exhausted and having no idea where the CMO was going with this. Did he intend to somehow blackmail Knock Out with vague observations? “You don’t have anything on me. Look, I couldn’t escape Starscream even if I wanted to!  Why do you care what I might have had?”

   Lacer’s face was unreadable save the fury that dialed down and lingered as agitation. After a moment of prolonged silence, in which Knock Out clenched everything and desperately debated the amount of damage he might have just caused, the CMO nodded subtley. “I can disable your EMF monitor and your trackers. Permanently.”

   Knock Out’s mouth popped open in surprise and stayed there, suspended in wariness. Disabling Starscream’s trackers would give Knock Out a modicum of control over his frame again. But at what benefit to Lacer? At what cost to Knock Out? A dark paranoia gripped his spark and he snarled as much a warning as a question. “Why?”

   Lacer’s entire frame sagged as he sighed but tightly crossed arms banished any semblance of ease. “We all do things we don’t want to, things we never would have considered ourselves capable of in another time. Sometimes we regret our decisions, our actions, who we become; but we don’t have a choice. That is how we survive. I can tell you know all about that but I am easily five time your age and I have seen so much more. So listen when I tell you something you don’t know. Sometimes, while we’re surviving, we forget how to act like we're alive. If that miner is important enough to risk yourself for, I imagine you’ll live better being able to see the slagger without risking Starscream’s wrath.”

   Knock Out’s pulse pounded. “But why-“

   “You did suffer quite a stress during the battle,” Lacer segued casually over whatever protest the red mech wanted to make. “As far as we can tell, when you touched the Wrecker device, it rerouted part of the engines’ energy through your frame. The damage was subtle compared to the system-wide crash it should have caused but the damage was still rather wide-spread. I’ll tell Starscream your trackers are ruined and that your damage is too severe for any further attempts.”

   “And what will I owe you?” Knock Out snapped, unconvinced by such a beautiful promise.

   “You’ll take over my post when I die.”

   For the second time in as many minutes, Knock Out was dumbfounded.

   “I won’t live forever,” Lacer pointed out without batting an optic. “Wouldn’t want to. But that doesn't mean I want to see just any moron in my position. So prove me correct about you. Prove to me you’re better than the rest of those brave idiots. I’ll help you, teach you, and all you have to do is prove that you will make it to the end of this war and remember what it means to live. This whole slagging war isn't going to mean much if the only mechs to make it through are a bunch of brutes with nothing left to punch but each other. Now, lay back down before you fall down. You're not going anywhere until we straighten out those legs anyway.”

***

  So many things had changed aboard the warship after a single battle with the Wreckers that it took Knock Out almost as long to catch up to the new norm as it did to physically recover. When Lacer revealed Thundercracker’s death, Knock Out certainly wouldn’t have said he mourned the loss. Though Knock Out hadn’t harbored any particular malice toward the blue seeker, his death was rather relieving in a way. Starscream and Skywarp sequestered themselves in their quarters when they weren’t on the bridge and they rarely called for Knock Out’s services, undoubtedly preferring to seek comfort in each other instead. The times Knock Out was called for, he spent more time listening to Skywarp snarl about Autobots and watching Starscream snap about Thundercracker's carelessness than he spent interfacing with either seeker. Even though Lacer had made good on their deal and assured Starscream that Knock Out’s EM logs would no longer be available for review, the air commander simply brushed aside the CMO and his words with a barely irritated grunt.

      There was an irony to the fact that Knock Out virtually possessed a wealth of freedom of physical touch but the one mech he wanted to share it with was nowhere to be found.  Breakdown was off hunting Wreckers, Primus knew where and for how long, according to the red mech's new mentor. True, Knock Out had stressed the need to elevate Breakdown within the Decepticon ranks, and while a vengeance-based unit of warriors under Dreadwing’s command was certainly a step up from simple miner in the hierarchy, the danger of the position did less to reassure Knock Out daily. This time, Knock Out was truly powerless to follow or even communicate with his partner. He decided all he could do was simply wait and hope for Breakdown to return to him.

***

   Being part of a unit again was gratifying in a way Breakdown could not have imagined. Dreadwing had proven an excellent squad leader. He was fair but stern and did not hold back when they met the enemy. Decepticon or not, Breakdown held a great respect for the seeker. The fact that their mission had been a generally agreed upon success lifted Breakdown’s spirits as well.

   Dreadwing’s squadron had pursued the Wreckers and three times met them in battle. Three times, the Decepticons emerged victorious having forced the Autobots to retreat. There were minimal casualties on both sides but Breakdown had his chance for a rematch with Bulkhead, Seaspray, and even Wheeljack. Each time Breakdown had the pleasure of inflicting some hurt on his former allies with the aid of his new squad mates. The looks on the Wreckers’ faces when they picked out Breakdown amidst the two dozen Decepticon flyers were priceless and Breakdown made sure the Wreckers knew each skirmish was personal. What’s more, Dreadwing’s squadron was returning with a unique prize.

   Starscream would have liked for a few Wrecker helms on a platter but Starscream would have to wait. The Autobot reinforcements the Wreckers called for had arrived eventually and made decimation of the Wreckers unrealistic. Not before Dreadwing and company discovered the reason for such a desperate distress call however.  Somewhere, the Wreckers had acquired a cache of cloudy green crystals that looked suspiciously reminiscent of unrefined energon. Their purpose was beyond Breakdown but the caution with which they were stowed in the lowest level of the Wrecker ship spoke volumes. The cargo was in Decepticon hands just moments before the Autobot forces arrived. A tactical retreat was the only logical choice for Dreadwing’s limited squad in the face of a fully staffed Autobot warship.

   Emboldened by reinforcements, the collective Autobots turned to return pursuit but losing the Autobot ship was not difficult and Dreadwing and squad were soon on course to rendezvous with Starscream’s ship. The closer to home they drew, the harder time Breakdown had containing himself.

   “Eager to return?”

   Breakdown startled but laughed when Dreadwing pointed out Breakdown’s anxiously tapping pede.

   “Yeah, definitely,” Breakdown admitted as he consciously smoothed the bouncing limb. “I…I really wanna check up on Knock Out.”

   The tips of Dreadwings mouth tipped up in what Breakdown was coming to recognize as the nearest thing to a smile the squad leader ever expressed. The ship was not the most spacious Breakdown had ever travelled aboard but he managed to make room on the bench next to him for Dreadwing’s larger frame. The seeker accepted the silent offer and sat.

   “I’m sure you’re brother-in-arms has made an encouraging recovery by now," Dreadwing rumbled comfortingly. "How long have the two of you fought together?”

   Breakdown had to think about that. He and Knock Out hadn’t spent nearly as much time in combat as Dreadwing seemed to believe but it was a pretty sure thing during the height of their racing days. “A few centuries I guess. But we’ve known each other for a bit longer.”

  “You seem rather close. I’d expected it to be much longer.”

   “Well, maybe a couple millennia all told. Kinda hit it off from the beginning. We met on Cybertron but he was injured in a battle.”

   “When you were a Wrecker?”

   “Yeah…Knock Out, he’s not real big but there was something about him. Like this…like he had some kind of a fire in him, ya know? Felt wrong to kill him. So I helped him get away and I never went back.”

   “That is why you parted ways with the Wreckers?”

   Breakdown nodded with a little grimace. “It...it kinda sounds bad when I say it out loud like that. Doesn’t it?”

   “From a military perspective, it certainly does. Though it sounds like you also found a higher purpose. I could see your actions as admirable, even if not entirely honorable. Breakdown, no doubt you had strong feelings about the Decepticons that allowed you to become a Wrecker. Consider our goals, however. The Decepticon cause is to reshape the lives of Cybertronians, to simply improve our conditions. We are not afraid to fight for that revolution the same way you brought about your own change, at the risk of being cast out and losing everything.”

   “You sound like you’re trying to recruit me,” Breakdown chuckled uneasily. “I’m already a Decepticon, Sir.”

   “In name. For convenience. And most recently, for vengeance. But your spark isn’t quite in it. Is it, Breakdown?”

   The former Wrecker stared long and hard into red seeker optics. Not a single member of Dreadwing’s squad was focused in their direction, preferring to slip into recharge or chat amongst themselves. The accusation was just between Dreadwing and Breakdown. Breakdown should have clamped down or denied outright. But the proper time for denial had long passed. Doing so now would be an obvious lie. Surprisingly, Breakdown realized he didn’t want to lie anyway. Breakdown swallowed against the tightness in his throat.  “And if you’re right about that?”

   That rare smile tugged at Dreadwing’s lips. “I’m not threatening you. I’m only suggesting you reconsider us, not as the villains, but as just one side of a conflict looking to change our lives for the better.”

   The squad leader rose, intent to leave the conversation there for now. Breakdown wasn’t sure what compelled him to reach up and grab a deep blue forearm to halt the seeker’s departure. Maybe it was the fact that there had been no ultimatum attached. No ‘swear your undying loyalty here and now or get chucked out the airlock.’  Maybe it was the fact that Dreadwing had brought up the truth so quietly when he could have thrown it to the ship at large. Maybe it was simply because Breakdown hadn’t felt so lonely since the moment he snuck out in the dead of night to leave the Wrecker camp behind and Dreadwing was the first mech outside of Knock Out to show Breakdown a smidge of something like respect.

   “Sir, wait!”

   Dreadwing paused patiently.

   Breakdown vented for courage. Primus he was pushing it. At best, Dreadwing was going to think the blue grounder had snapped. But for whatever reason, Breakdown couldn’t help but trust Dreadwing to give an honest answer. “This is gonna sound weird but, Decepticons…exactly what kind of rules do they have against…relationships?”

   Dreadwing’s optics widened more than Breakdown would have thought capable.

   “We were good together,” Breakdown insisted.

   Dreadwing gently removed Breakdown’s arm from his plating but his optics still hadn’t returned to normal size. “It is highly inappropriate for a soldier and commander to engage in anything beyond a strictly professional-“

   “Uh, no!” Breakdown sputtered as he realized Dreadwing’s misunderstanding. “Not you, Sir. I mean me and Knock Out. We…we weren’t just brothers-in-arms.”

   Dreadwing’s optics finally returned to normal, before narrowing hard. That chronic frown was more severe than ever. Breakdown kicked himself for his stupidity. Just because Dreadwing had treated him kindly did not mean that the squad leader wanted to deal with Breakdown’s love life!

   “Soldier, I would advise you not to elaborate on that statement here or elsewhere. Commander Starscream would not react favorably to any outside claims.”

   “What?” Breakdown muttered puzzled at Dreadwing’s sudden harsh change in mood. “What’s Starscream got to do with anything? And what do you mean outside claims?”

   “You mean to say you were not told?”

   “Told what?” Breakdown’s confusion grew with every word.

   An uneasy silence stretched between them and Dreadwing was the first to look away, his face fell in an unsettling expression-almost like remorse. When his optics met Breakdown’s again, they were full of unmistakable pity.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. It should have been at the end of the last one but BRAIN FART! So I'll just let it be it's own little thing so that the people who are stalking the fic for updates can see it ASAP. (I know that pain, friends.)

      Breakdown had known several mechs early in his enlistment who couldn’t handle flight. Perfectly capable and even fearsome on the ground, some turned into shaking messes in the skies. Their limbs quaked and their tanks roiled in threat of purging. Breakdown was never one of those mechs. But he made sure to tell Dreadwing that it was a 'pretty typical grounder thing’ as he shambled out of the ship as soon as physically possible looking every bit like an airsick new recruit.

   Dreadwing did not call him on it but simply motioned snickering eradicons to move along to allow them an extended moment of semi-privacy. “Perhaps you should visit the medbay. I’m sure our medics can attend you while you look in on your _comrade_.”

   Primus! That was the last place Breakdown wanted to be and he couldn’t misread the stern emphasis Dreadwing had placed on the word ‘comrade.’ Just a friendly last reminder of one of the worst conversations Breakdown had ever had.

   “These sorts of ills are better treated sooner rather than later,” Dreadwing’s voice fell softly around Breakdown’s bent helm.

   They both knew they weren’t talking about airsickness. Would this be half as hard if Dreadwing wasn’t so carefully supportive?

   “I..I will,” Breakdown promised shakily. “I just…need a minute first.”

   An oversized hand patted Breakdown’s back in two consoling, slow pats that set him on the verge of actually purging before Dreadwing simply walked away.

   How stupid was he that in all their time aboard Starscream’s ship, Breakdown hadn’t managed to put two and two together? The whole crew knew Starscream had a mech who was not to be touched. Even the miners who were never told anything beyond their day’s assignment had gossiped about their Commander’s newest affair and how ridiculous it was that two wing-mates weren’t enough satisfaction already. Breakdown himself had jokingly lamented for the poor spark who had to cater to what they’d all imagined as screeched demands for lewd acts and validation in equal parts. But no one had ever named a name or even uttered a description of said unfortunate mech.

   The only thing worse than knowing Knock Out had been interfacing Starscream was not knowing why. Was there actually something between the two? Knock Out had been a flier and a Decepticon. For all Breakdown knew, the two had been lovers for thousands of years before Breakdown showed up in Vos. Which would mean Knock Out had tried to end his thing with Breakdown to return to the seeker. But then why bring Breakdown aboard the Decepticon ship at all when it would have been easier for Knock Out to slip out of Breakdown’s life entirely? Unless Knock Out was still trying to repay Breakdown by rescuing the blue bot from the Ammonite trap.

   Or maybe Knock Out was trying to kindle again. Maybe aerial CNA would make the difference between a sparkling and another buried husk. But Knock Out had given up, promised no more attempts and Breakdown was convinced his little partner had genuinely meant it this time.

   Or maybe…maybe Knock Out didn’t have a choice. Maybe, oh Primus, the Ammonite world… Maybe Knock Out had saved them both with the only thing be had left to barter because Breakdown certainly hadn’t been the one to lift them out of that mess. He’d fragged it up and threatened the Wrecker who was their only chance at making it offworld with the Autobots. So Knock Out had gone to the Decepticons instead and…that was Breakdown’s fault.

   Breakdown lost the fight with his frame and purged on the landing pad.

***

   “You’ve got a fair grasp on medical procedures but you’ll need to know your way around a lab as well,” Lacer muttered as he walked Knock Out through an impressive array of equipment stashed just off the main medbay. “All signs point to the medical field as producing the next round of weaponry. But even if the war doesn’t come to that, you’ll at least know how to tell when an assistant botches a vital test.”

   Knock Out listened raptly to each machine’s description and procedure overview. As they were reaching a device that Knock Out only knew distantly as a centrifuge, a flash of blue plating caught his optic. Breakdown shuffled through the double doors and stood awkwardly near the medbay’s entrance. If it was his goal to casually scan the medbay, he failed miserably.

   “Well, look what the turbofox dragged in,” Lacer huffed with only a fraction of his usual heat. “At least he’s not leaking all over the place this time.”

   Knock Out turned back to Lacer’s lesson determined to prove he wasn’t going to squander an opportunity for education in favor of the, admittedly long-awaited, return of a certain blue mech. But instead of resuming the lesson, Lacer simply flicked his claw in Breakdown’s direction.

   “Just go and get the reunion over with,” Lacer muttered as if it were some minor chore, “but try to be a little more discreet this time around.”

   Knock Out thanked the older medic with a relieved brush of his EM field in lieu of words.

   “Don’t run!” Lacer hissed when Knock Out exited the lab a little too quickly.

   Knock Out slowed himself to a more inconspicuous pace and even managed to look surprised when he walked into speaking range of the blue mech. “Breakdown! I take it the Wrecker hunt has ended.”

   Breakdown nodded slowly. “For now.”

   “…Well, it went off without a hitch, didn’t it?” His smiling front was going to break If Breakdown didn't give him a little something to work with.

   Breakdown simply nodded again.

   “Alright then," Knock Out’s façade of mild interest crumbled into real concern, “what gives? Breakdown, you look like slag. And you smell like half-processed energon. Are you alright?”

   This time Breakdown just cracked a sad ghost of a grin.

   “Are you injured?” Knock Out prompted with a growing sense of unease. Truthfully the blue mech looked physically more whole than he’d seen him their whole stay aboard the ship. But something was very wrong with Breakdown’s field, whisps of emotions slipped out and tainted the space between them.

   “What about you?” Breakdown countered softly. “Those are new. They're very...red.”

   Knock Out reached up to feel around his face before realizing Breakdown was referring to his new optics. He’d gotten used to them rather quickly and forgot that they weren’t his originals unless he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface. He did take a minute to recalibrate them to proper color using the blue of Breakdown’s armor as a baseline. His guess had been close but now he’d properly balanced out the red of his lenses and Breakdown’s colors looked just as Knock Out remembered them.

   “Can you believe they didn’t have a single blue optic aboard this whole ship?" Knock Out quipped wryly. "I guess that’s no big surprise given the Autobot proclivity for blue and Decepticon preference for...well, these.”

   “And those?” Breakdown nodded to the long, sharp digits skirting Knock Out’s faceplate.

   “For protection,” Knock Out vented as he flexed his new claws. They increased his hands’ reach by nearly a third and they were deadly if applied correctly. “Lacer’s idea. A good one. But you never answered my question. Are you alright?”

   Breakdown ignored the query once more by hanging his helm. A little shudder of the mech’s frame caused his voice to falter. “A-are you fragging Starscream?”

   Knock Out was not prepared for that question or the hurt in Breakdown’s voice. Both caused his spark to skip a whirl. He glanced around to gauge who might have heard. Noone. Even though the whole medstaff already knew or at least hosted extremely well-educated guesses about Knock Out and Starscream, that didn’t mean Knock Out wanted to discuss it right in the middle of the floor. Especially not with Breakdown.

   “Breakdown, I don’t know why you would think that but this isn't a good time or place to talk about something like-“

   “It’s a really easy question,” Breakdown insisted flatly even though his optics were full to bursting with emotion.

   “...But it’s not an easy answer,” Knock Out whispered very conscious of a mech just a few arm lengths away who had started watching the exchange with narrowed optics.

   The blue mech cast his flickering gaze to the floor and shook his head bitterly with just a little bob of denial. “Then I'm guessing what you mean to say is 'yes.' Knock Out, I know I said we were just putting it on hold but…we should stop. For good.”

   A vent escaped Knock Out in an explosive sound of disbelief. “You don't mean that."

   Except that Breakdown really looked like he did.

   The red mech scrambled to change his partner's mind. "Hold on, Breakdown. There are things you don’t understand.”

   “You keep telling me that but I think I do," Breakdown muttered as he rubbed a hand over his optics. "Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it."

   Knock Out reached out to grab Breakdown's hand if only to stall for enough time that he could figure out how to discretely explain with an ever increasing amount of optics pointed their way but Breakdown surprised Knock Out by stepping away from the touch entirely.

   "We’re not good for each other, Knock Out. I mean…all the time you spent killing yourself over sparklings, getting pounded when I was stupid enough to drag you into a fight the Wreckers, selling yourself to Starscream…those are all things you did because of me, right?”

   “No. Don’t do that! I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop for a moment,” Knock Out’s volume steadily inched higher with each objection. “Things are changing. Just hold on a little longer and everything will be better. I promise you.”

   “That's what I'm talking about. You don't tell me what you're doing and then I find out later you're just hurting yourself trying to make things good for us! I'm putting a stop to it. I’m calling it quits."

   That stole the air from Knock Out's vents. "Breakdown, please. Let's find another room where we can talk this over."

   If he could get Breakdown alone, somewhere he could touch him. If he could prove that circumstances were already improving, reassure him that it was all going to be worth it...

   "Are you listening to me?" Breakdown huffed incredulously.

   He didn't want to. He really didn't want to hear what Breakdown was saying. "I'm trying to make a life for us. If you just wait-"

   "I said we're done!"

   Knock Out couldn't help but flinch at such an explosion of volume. He clamped his optics shut to ignore the crowd blatantly edging in as much as to block out that miserable combination of desperation and anger on Breakdown's features.

   When the silence began to chafe, Breakdown came back with a voice so soft it was painful in comparison. "I can’t be the thing that hurts you over and over. Take care of yourself. Ok?”

   He couldn't stand to open his optics right away but he forced them back into focus at the sound of retreating footsteps. Before Knock Out could find the processing power to protest again, the double medbay doors met in the middle. Just like that, Breakdown was gone again leaving Knock Out to stand numbly with a dozen prying looks cast his way and a newfound freedom that meant absolutely nothing.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you need them...  
> conjux endura- a lifelong mate, the kind you officially sparkbond to  
> amica endura- a lifelong friend, the bestie without a romantic bond

   “It’s that time agai-” Knock Out’s forcefully cheerful announcement came to an agitated halt when he opened a door to a wall of blackness.

   “Sitting in the dark again, I see,” Knock Out muttered as he entered the private suite just off the medbay. “Tsk, tsk. I’ll bet you bullied Flatline into leaving the lights off after his morning check. If you’re going to sleep forever, you might as well die. Don’t you think, Lacer?”

   He flicked on the lights and found the sight that greeted him every day for the last decade, the ship’s CMO on a recharge slab with no less than a dozen tubes jutting from his frame and connecting him to the various monitors and life support machines tucked all around the berth. The ancient jet grunted at the brightness and weakly chucked an empty energon cube in Knock Out’s general direction.

   Knock Out sidestepped the projectile with a smile. It was not personal; any other mech would have been assaulted as well. The old medic’s body might be failing, shutting down system by system, crumbling under the sheer number of years lived, but it seemed he hadn’t lost any of his fire. Knock Out gently waved the syringe in his hand. “I’ve upped your daily dosage of pain meds but maybe that’s unnecessary considering the spunk you possess today.”

   “Have you seen him yet?” Lacer groaned in pain as he struggled to sit up. He ignored both Knock Out’s smart remark and the red mech’s attempt to help him upright. “He should be reaching the barracks about now.”

   Knock Out glared and yanked the syringe back when it looked like Lacer might try knocking it to the floor like the last one. “Now how is it that you can lie in here, practically isolated, and still know the exact moment Breakdown returns from a mission?”

   “I make it my business to know.”

   “Well, it isn’t your business,” Knock Out snapped as he shoved a support behind Lacer’s back and withdrew his hands before the old medic could slap them away. A few years ago, a comment like that would have earned the junior medic a smart backhand but they both knew the playing field had levelled the moment Lacer announced Knock Out as his choice for promotion to CMO. “I’m tired of rehashing this with you every day. He doesn’t want me.”

   “I told you I didn’t want any of _that_!” Lacer hissed as Knock Out stealthily sunk the needle into already brittle metal along the jet’s back. “And when did he ever say he didn’t want you?”

   “Umm, when he dumped me like the second act of a bad holo drama?” Knock Out scoffed and withdrew the needle before wagging it scoldingly in the older medic’s face. “I wish you’d quit fighting me on this medication. You’re obviously in pain and this will help. You might be dying but there’s no reason you have to suffer through it.”

   Lacer chose not to argue about the meds but that didn’t mean he was content to be silent and so continued the other vein in their dual conversation. “He never said you were unwanted. We were all listening.”

   So it was back to Breakdown then. Just like every day for the last decade.

   “Yes, just remind me of that humiliation over and over,” Knock Out muttered hotly.  “You know, when you named me the next CMO, I got the distinct impression that you were fully ready to die; you had accepted the inevitable and were practically eager for the smelting pit. Yet here you are still kicking, still threatening, and still sticking your claws in my business.”

  “Oh, no,” Lacer’s chuckle turned into a frame-shaking cough before he settled down again.  “That was before. I’m far too invested in this romantic drama now. I can’t rust in peace until you get your happy ending.”

   Knock Out rolled his optics while he covertly checked a spark monitor mounted to the wall. There wasn’t much time left at this rate, a year tops. Lacer had made it clear many times over that he wanted no countdown clock so Knock Out fell back into idle chatter with the full force of sarcasm instead. “Well, as your doctor, I’m pleased to inform you that you’ll live forever because there simply are no happy endings.”

   “You don’t believe that. I have never seen a pair of more hopelessly love-blinded fools.” Lacer winced and clutched at his side though he failed to do it as discretely as he no doubt intended.

   Knock Out timed the contractions of Lacer’s fuel pump on another screen. Forget a full year. There was less than half that time, for sure. He could replace Lacer’s fading parts with new ones but supplies were running low the longer the war dragged on. Even with all knew parts, a spark could only burn so long. And as Knock Out well knew by this point, a spark was the one thing he couldn’t make. He sighed before turning back to address the fading CMO. Why the elderly Decepticon chose to waste his precious time talking about Knock Out’s disastrous love life was a mystery but it was the only thing the jet ever wanted to discuss during Knock Out’s visits. “You say you heard everything, right? How about the part where I’m not good for him? He’s right about that.”

   “I saw his face. He’d give you his spark in a second.”

   The red mech sighed. He wasn’t even mad anymore. He was just tired of this same conversation. “And I’d have absolutely nothing to give him in return. I’m already bonded…to some retired senator I haven’t heard from in two million years. So drop the Breakdown thing or else I might smother you and put us both out of our misery.”

   Starscream’s CMO just smirked knowing that Knock Out was more bluster than bite.

   “Enough chatter,” Knock Out grumbled and thrust a datapad in Lacer’s direction. “You need to go over these inventories so I can present our supply needs to Starscream.”

   “Alright, alright,” the senior medic took the pad in unsteady hands and flicked through it before continuing casually. “But, just so you know, Breakdown’s leaving again in three days.”

   Knock Out’s disbelieving scoff didn’t stop the CMO from pressing on. “Make a move and make it now. Sooner or later you’re gonna run out of time to say the things you need to say. The worst thing you can do is die with regrets.”

   Knock Out rolled his optics and snatched the list back from Lacer, exasperation nearly smothered his words. “Actually, I think I’ll just submit this as is. And, just so _you_ know, if I ever want romantic advice, I’ll ask for it.”

*

   Despite his verbal protests, despite the part of his processor that labelled him an absolute idiot, Knock Out’s pedes took a little detour on the way to Starscream. True, the little detour required two separate lifts and was half a ship in the wrong direction but as Knock Out stood outside the vehicon barracks, he did his level best to convince himself he really was just ‘swinging by.’ Just because they weren’t an item anymore didn’t mean Knock Out and Breakdown weren’t friends. Knock Out could stop by and visit a friend. He just hadn’t…in the near twenty years since Breakdown had officially ended their romantic relationship. The same way Breakdown hadn’t answered Knock Out’s comms. Nevermind that Knock Out didn’t really know which of the dozens of doors down the hall might be hiding his old partner. All he had to do was knock and ask or call Lacer. No doubt the pushy matchmaker knew Breakdown’s barrack, bunk number, and recharge schedule in addition to deployment status.

   But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Any of it. No one had ever cast aside Knock Out with such seeming finality, except for the mech he thought he was on track to spend his whole life with. What kind of a desperate fool was Knock Out to venture where he was not wanted just because some old jet got a kick out of it?

   “Stupid,” Knock Out muttered to the closed doors and retraced his steps to the nearest lift.

*

   Knock Out’s status as CMO in training had made his presence on the command bridge as common as his presence had once been in Starscream’s personal quarters. And while he’d witnessed many instances of bickering between Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp in a private setting, he’d never seen more than a passing verbal jab from the three in a formal setting. Which is why he was so taken aback when the bridge door opened to reveal Starscream and Skywarp locked in a snarling exchange in front of a very present and very wary crew.

   “Maybe if you’d unweld your face from Megatron’s aft, you could tell him we’re not finished in this quadrant!” Skywarp spat. He used every subtle inch of height he had over Starscream to loom over his trine leader.

   The intimidation was lost on an irate Starscream. “That is your _Lord_ you’re talking about and _I_ am your superior in this armada and this trine!”

   “We’re not a trine!” Skywarp shouted as he reached the end of what passed for control in the purple seeker’s mind. “You need three for a trine! Thundercracker is dead and those Wreckers are still out there. If we leave, they go unpunished. I say we aren’t going anywhere until every one of them is dead!”

   “You do not lead. Megatron has ordered-“

    “Frag him!” Skywarp jabbed a pointed claw hard enough to dent Starscream’s chest.  “If you turn and run, noone will avenge Thundercracker!”

   “Then maybe the slagger shouldn’t have gotten himself murdered!”

   Two sets of claws flew into action and Knock Out took a preemptive step backward, sure that a death brawl between two obviously volatile seekers was about to begin. Starscream connected first. Metal squealed as sharp claws tore through sensitive facial plating. Skywarp staggered away instantly, hand cupped to his face against the pain. The room stopped, frozen by a single strike.

    The moment energon spilled beneath Skywarp’s palm and trickled down his chin, Starscream’s fury-twisted features blew wide in shock and remorse. As if once again noticing the room around him, Starscream drew himself into a much more controlled position, helm high, and growled to his injured wing mate. “Never question my command again. Now get off my bridge and have a medic patch you up.”

   Knock Out had already sent a warning to his medical staff when Skywarp expelled a vent equal parts amused and disbelieving.

   “I’ll do you one better, Starscream.” Then Skywarp vanished, gone in a pop of noise and spark of light.

   They’d heard of Skywarp’s teleporting abilities but given the gasps peppering the room, not many had seen it firsthand. Starscream remained stern for a moment longer, but when Skywarp did not immediately reappear, the commander barked to the room at large. “Find him! Do not let him leave the ship!”

   “Sir,” a mech dared pipe up and indicate the screen in front of him, “a shuttle has just left the bay.”

   “Dispatch Dreadwing’s team immediately. Bring Skywarp back before he does something stupid!”

***

***

   Knock Out hadn’t realized he’d slipped into a power save mode until he suddenly jerked alert, startled by a wet gasp and a strangled curse. He scrambled into action, grabbed an oversized syringe and thrust the needle into Lacer’s chest. He drew the plunger up and brought with it a full tube's worth of energon that had worked its way through decaying metal and threatened to flood the dying CMO’s spark. Knock Out dropped the full syringe on the berthside table next to a dozen others and gave a machine on the wall a vicious kick. The device was supposed to warn him when pressure dropped in Lacer’s fuel lines but it was as worn down and dysfunctional as every other thing on this ship, living or not. When Lacer’s vents eased into something that sounded a little less like imminent, agonizing death, Knock Out took a moment to steady himself. He was trying to remain alert, to ease the last moments of the last mech on the ship who had proven he gave a damn about Knock Out but Knock Out was falling apart as figuratively as Lacer was literally.

   Everything had gone to slag. News and troop reports that once came in daily came in further and further apart as communications crumbled and theatres of war became isolated or forces were wiped out entirely by new weapons more horrific than Knock Out would have thought either side capable of. By all the numbers that managed to trickle in, the Cybertronian’s were whittled to nothing. Those that did survive marched steadily on with the war effort as if noone could see this for the genocidal madness it had become.

   The losses became more blaring when Autobot’s arrived in Knock Out’s corner of space. The ships were small at first, barely large enough to hold a handful of mechs and the Decepticon ship’s guns kept them well at bay. Then a small fleet of shuttles commanded by some Autobot named Prowl had come out of nowhere and made life a living nightmare.

   Starscream’s ship was meant to deploy a massive airstrike and slip away into the stars before popping up again for another strike elsewhere. The ship itself was better suited to flee than fight on an extended front. But Starscream refused both Megatron’s insistent summons and his own crew’s urgings to leave. They fought losing battle after battle against the Autobots. Knock Out’s medics were called away to fight and fewer returned with the rest of the injured after each bout. Starscream’s crew continued as if three out of every five berths were not blaringly empty. Knock Out spent hours he should have been using to recharge trapped in Starscream’s quarters listening to the air commander shout at the walls and rave about everything from the idiocy of his trine to the presumptuous Autobots who thought they could take down Megatron’s second in command. Knock Out nodded and agreed, a captive soundingboard until the commander either wore himself out or abruptly realized Knock Out was in the room and dismissed him with a huff.

   There was talk of condensing the Decepticon army into a final force. Apparently, this had been the command to set Skywarp off. Starscream’s armada was to join Megatron’s forces indefinitely in a small solar system where they’d cornered the Autobots’ Prime. The war could end very soon, if only Starscream would call off his search and join Megatron. If there were any of them left to join Megatron... Starscream might have been a rather considerate leader at some point but Knock Out knew enough about seekers and trines to see the separation anxiety pressing in and twisting any good intentions Starscream may have had left. He had pushed his troops twice as hard after Thundercracker’s death to rid the quadrant of Autobots. After Skywarp’s departure…well, no one was going anywhere until Dreadwing brought Skywarp home.

   The ship rocked and the overhead lights cycled down to half strength.

   “Beautiful,” Knock Out muttered. Nothing like another bombardment to really make his day complete. Wounded mechs would be pouring in at any moment now. And if he was lucky, a few of his medics would make it back as well.

   “Tell me about him.” Lacer startled Knock Out with a weak croak. Knock Out had assumed the older medic well beyond a state to communicate in.

   “I don’t want to talk about Breakdown right now,” Knock Out whispered to the wall. The blue mech had been gone for months as part of Dreadwing’s retrieval mission. Even Lacer wasn’t sure where Breakdown was. Communications had stopped shortly after Prowl’s ships arrived.

   “Not him,” Lacer wheezed. “The senator. Your bond mate.”

   “Why?” Knock Out’s brows quirked, mystified, as he checked the power going to life support systems.

   “My spark’s going out and you can’t even humor me?”

   Knock Out shook his helm in disbelief. “Fine. I don’t know much about him anyway. It was all very secretive. There was some potential scandal and he needed proof of a sparkbond to clear himself. It was quick, impersonal… I didn’t even see his face. But the money settled my debts and kept me living well for a few hundred years.”

   “You resent him.” It was a statement not a question.

   After a moment’s consideration, Knock Out shook his head. Then realizing Lacer may no longer be able to see the gesture, he clarified verbally, “No. It was just another transaction. I never saw myself having much use for a sparkbond so agreed to his terms. We just kept the connection clamped tight and went our separate ways. If I had to resent anything, I guess it would be the fact that he has managed to live this long.”

   Lacer tried to laugh but energon welled in his throat and choked the sound.

   Knock Out retrieved another empty syringe in case the breach was significant. The less time they had, the more Knock Out feared he wasn't ready to lose this mech. At the same time, it was absolutely senseless to see a mech he respected suffer this much. “Let me end this for you.”

   But the old mech shook his head as vehemently as he could manage. “I entered this war with the goal to die on my own time.”

   “Will you at least have some painkillers?” Knock Out asked even though he already knew the answer.

   “No. It won't be long and I want to feel it.”

   Knock Out barely held back a sigh and settled into his chair. He had to resettle when another blast rocked the ship.

   “Your senator,” Lacer’s voice sounded light-years away, buried under pain and gathering fluids, and barely made it to Knock Out's audials, “He murdered his conjux endura.”

   Even after a moment to process, Knock Out’s mouth continued to gape. “How do you know that?”

   Knock Out himself had never been sure if he’d actually glimpsed that through his sparkbond before learning how to properly burry it or if it had been some bad feedback combined with the high grade energon the senator left as a parting gift.

   “He loved his conjux,” Lacer struggled to get the words out as he choked on energon and emotion that made Knock Out squirm in his chair, “but as time went on, he loved his amica more. He wanted to dissolve the bond and join with his amica instead but his conjux would not al..allow...a-”

   Lacer sputtered around the fluid in his throat. With a curse, Knock Out squirmed beneath the life support tubes, wedged himself behind the jet, and propped the much larger CMO’s head up on his red shoulder-high enough to drain the energon away from his throat. “I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than my damn spark mate. You’re getting yourself worked up.”

   The ship shuddered, this time accompanied by a horrid groan that could only be the sound of a ship-on-ship collision.

   But the dying mech shook his head, grasped for Knock Out’s arm around his chest, and continued stubbornly. “The conjux…killed the amica. Then your senator murdered his conjux in a fit of rage. You have the same spark type as the conjux. He was already a shut in; he was always so ill. No one ever even knew the senator's conjux endura was dead. Not with your spark filling out the senator's bond.”

   “Primus!” Knock Out swore and tried to resettle the larger medic when the gurgle kicked back up to punctuate Lacer’s sentence. The more the jet worked himself up in the retelling, the faster he flooded with his own energon. “Were you some kind of private investigator? Forget the story! Stop before you drown.”

   “I spent so long...punishing myself. But I never considered what it meant for you. What I did...” Lacer wheezed. “It’s...it’s going to hurt.”

   “Quit talking and you might pull through this, idiot!” Knock Out groped around the table for an empty syringe.

   “Not death. Your bond…spark…it will hurt.”

   This time, Knock Out recognized the words as an apology. Then he recognized something he hadn’t felt in two million years. His spark bond swelled and he was aware of something beyond himself. Tentatively, he eased open the link. A weak sensation, tinted almost in relief, wrapped around his spark.

   “Primus,” Knock Out muttered, only now letting it all sink in.

   “I really do want you… to have that happy ending.”

   Lacer’s frame tensed suddenly against Knock Out. Cold swept through Knock Out’s spark so violently he thought it had been plunged in ice and he gasped. His frozen spark folded in on itself before it twisted, wrenched itself inside out, and snapped back to burn his spark case with sudden, overwhelming heat. Knock Out squeezed Lacer tightly to him, if only to put pressure on his own chest, to keep his spark from burning up or exploding outward.  It _did_ hurt and he shook against the body clamped in his arms long after he’d noticed Lacer go lax.

   Knock Out’s spark settled into a smoldering, but manageable pain by the time the double medbay doors slid open to admit the first wave of mangled and smoking patients. Leaving his dead sparkmate’s cooling body in the other room, the new CMO forced himself to appear as he would any other day. After all, life had never paused to let Knock Out recover before. Why would it do so now?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually big on OC's and even advertised this fic's OC's as 'unobstrusive' but I'm hoping you'll forgive me for the sake of compounding angst.
> 
> [Show your support with Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/foxficandink)


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